The Charmer and the Serpent
by AFoolsDecadence
Summary: Lancelot didn't die in the final battle, he returned with the other knights, not knowing what to do next, when he meets someone so unlike him, he can't help being entranced. But can he learn to love? LancelotOC ,slight GalahadOC
1. Chapter 1

Aethelinda

Agrona

**AAAAAnd I'm back! Long time no see to those, who enjoyed my stories. ****This one, however, will not be Harry Potter related. It'll be sort of an homage to the geniuses that brought us "King Arthur". I'm a huge Lancelot fan and people have rarely seen me angrier than at his death scene. So I thought it was time to take it into my own hands and bring him back to life:dark, dangerous, and absoluuuuutely dashing! ;-)**

It was raining.

No, raining wasn't the right word.

Pouring was more like it.

The weather had been like this for four days now. Normally Lancelot would have been impatient, moody and bored.

Well, he _was_ bored.

And although he grew weary of the wetness, he was thankful for it.

This one time he had to agree with Bors: The rain did wash all the blood away.

The Saxons' blood, the Woads' blood, the Romans' blood….and Tristan's.

Lancelot grinded his teeth and felt the familiar fury welling up inside him. He gripped the shaft of his sword and willed himself to calm down.

The image of Tristan's body, lying on the ground lifeless had burned itself into his mind.

He didn't dare close his eyes at night, because the only thing he ever saw was his friend's pale face, covered in blood and dirt, his cheeks hollow, his eyes glassy and empty.

He himself had just escaped death, having received a rather nasty wound in the stomach, thanks to an arrow shot by the Saxon's son. He had paid for it, Lancelot had made sure of that.

The wound grew infected and he was in and out of consciousness for almost three weeks, his friends fearing for his life. But finally, he had pulled through and now here he was, alive and well, and at the same time feeling as though he were dying.

Tristan had been an unusual man. Never speaking much, preferring the forest to the tavern and the company of his eagle to that of the serving girls.

This in particular had never ceased to amaze Lancelot, but he had always respected his friend's decisions and had enjoyed his company and dry humour.

And now, he was gone.

Just like Dagonet.

Lancelot sighed and shifted uneasily.

Over the years, they had lost so many companions in battle that he should have been used to the feeling of loss by now.

But he wasn't.

Maybe it was, what it meant to be human, maybe he was weak and maybe, he had grown fond of these two men in particular. He didn't know, why their deaths were such a weight on his shoulders.

And it wasn't like there was anything to make him keep his mind off it.

All the other knights spent their days pretty much the same way he did.

Except Arthur of course, who besides ruling the country, had just wed a beautiful woman.

Lancelot couldn't help feel a slight pinch in his gut.

He wasn't the sort of man who got emotionally involved with women, that would just complicate everything and he preferred an uncomplicated life.

But Guinevere had somehow entranced him.

From the moment he had first seen her in the dungeons he had admired her, not only for her incredible beauty but also for her courage and her loyalty to her people.

He had never confessed this to anyone, especially not Arthur, but he was sure Guinevere had guessed what was going on.

Still, he wasn't going to suffer from a broken heart over her, there were far too many other girls, who would prefer him to Arthur any day.

At the moment however, he could spot not a single one.

Not that it mattered, he wasn't really in the mood to be charming.

"Brooding are you?" a voice said behind him.

He looked around and saw Gawain coming towards the end of the tavern with two mugs of ale in his hands. He put one down in front of Lancelot and sat down opposite him.

Lancelot grunted and stared into mug.

"What's the matter with you? You look like a lovesick girl." Gawain snorted.

Lancelot looked at him irritated and Gawain raised his hands apologetically.

"Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to offend you." He said.

Lancelot sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Forget it. I'm just not in the best of moods at the moment."

"That's understandable." Gawain muttered and they looked at each other sadly.

"Still…" Gawain took a swig from his mug. "I don't think Dagonet and Tristan would appreciate it, if we only sulk around. In fact, I'm pretty sure Tristan would shot an arrow up my arse because I'm not fighting injustice."

They both laughed and Lancelot felt somehow relieved.

"Yeah, you're probably right. I definitely wouldn't want all of you to just sit around instead of enjoying your freedom if that arrow had served its purpose."

"There you go." Gawain said nodding and looked around.

"It's kind of quiet in here, isn't it? Where are all the people?"

"They probably all drowned in the streets." Lancelot murmured and Gawain snorted.

"There are not even any girls." Gawain sighed and looked disappointed.

"Think you'll manage to sleep alone for one night? Or are you scared of the dark?" Lancelot teased him. Gawain kicked him under the table.

"Look who's talking. I'm amazed you haven't broken down in front of Vanora, crying and begging her to take you, because you haven't had a woman in about a month."

"I have to say I am kind of amazed myself." Lancelot grinned.

"Actually I think I should, if just to annoy Bors. When is he finally going to marry her?"

Gawain smiled and shrugged, drinking some ale.

"When she's pregnant with their 20th child I imagine."

"I think I agree with you on that." Lancelot muttered and sighed.

"So what now?" Gawain asked. Lancelot shrugged.

"I don't know. I guess we'll have to wait until the sun returns, then the women will be lying at our feet again."

Gawain smiled and shook his head in disbelief.

"I don't mean that. I mean, what are you going to do now? Now, that we're all free?"

The question had taken Lancelot aback. He didn't answer for some time.

"I… I'm not sure." He said tentatively.

"I don't know whether to return to my village, go some place else or..." he trailed off.

"Or stay?" Gawain asked.

"I've been thinking about that, too. I think Arthur would definitely appreciate our company. If we can manage to tear him away from his divine wife. And I don't know what else to do. My village was destroyed nine ears ago, I don't have a home anymore, except here."

Lancelot was astonished. Gawain wasn't usually the sort of person to express his feelings so openly. Gawain must have sensed his amazement.

"I've had too much time to think these last few days. I need a distraction before it gets worse." He muttered and winked at Lancelot who grinned.

"And what about your plan to find a Sarmatian woman to wed?"

"That depends on what is available. If Bors waits another three months I think I'll enter your competition for Vanora. God knows she'd give one children pretty quickly."

They both laughed and a long silence followed.

"What do you think Tristan and Dagonet would have done if they were still here?" Gawain asked his friend.

Lancelot drew a hand threw his hair and shrugged.

"Tristan would probably do the same as always, hide in the forest talk to his pet and eat apples. Dagonet…hard to say really. I bet he would have taken in that boy we saved. Who knows, maybe he'd have turned out to be quite the loving father."

Gawain smiled and nodded.

"Hard to imagine, but you're probably right."

Silence fell again. they drank their ale and let their minds wander for a while.

"Where's Galahad?" Lancelot asked.

"Probably lying on his bed, complaining about a headache. He got so drunk last night, even Bors said he wouldn't want to have that hangover."

Lancelot couldn't help himself, he sniggered.

"And let me guess, he went to bed alone, didn't he?"

Gawain shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know how he does it. Maybe he scares the women off by rambling or he insults them."

"Or maybe he's too shy for his own good. That's something he should definitely work on." Lancelot said and Gawain grunted.

"Not everyone can be as charming as you, you should've realized that by now."

"My friend, I always knew that. Not everyone is as blessed as I am." Lancelot grinned.

"You know, I'm actually amazed, that you don't get turned down because of you're unbelievable arrogance. It would certainly do you some good."

"My dear Gawain, no woman in her right mind would, or could for that matter, turn me down. The thought alone is ridiculous."

"Whatever you say." Gawain mumbled into his mug.

"Right, I think I'm going to bed. I feel like I could sleep for a century." He yawned.

"How come? You didn't actually do anything today, except drink." Lancelot said.

"Exactly." Gawain answered, got up and swayed slightly.

"If I go to bed now, there's no risk of me drinking more than I should, thus I will not follow in Galahad's footsteps and wake up tomorrow with my head on fire."

"Clever idea." Lancelot said laughing.

"Like I said, I have too much time to think. Night."

"Night." Lancelot muttered, draining his mug.

Gawain disappeared through the wooden tavern door.

With a sigh, Lancelot sank back against the cold stone wall, closing his eyes.

Gawain had got him thinking.

What was he supposed to do, now, that it was all over?

Should he go, should he stay? What was the right thing to do, what was the best thing to do?

He had to admit, he liked it here.

The people were nice, the ale good, the serving girls pretty.

But if his friends would scatter all over the country, he feared his life would grow rather dull.

A loud bang tore him out of his thoughts, as the tavern doors burst open.

Two men, Romans by the looks of them, entered.

Everyone watched them with hate and superstition but they didn't seem to care.

They sat down at an empty table and started arguing heatedly after ordering their drinks.

One of them pulled a little brown bag out if his pocket and emptied it onto the table. One of the golden coins rolled off the table onto the floor.

A young boy who was passing by, crouched down and picked it up.

Before he could do anything else one of the Romans had drawn his sword and had snatched the boy up at the neck.

"What do you think you're doing, you little rat? You won't steal my money!" he roared.

"Please, sir, I wasn't stealing it. I wanted to give it back to you." The boy said, his eyes wide in fear.

"And I'm supposed to believe you?" the guy hissed glaring at the boy.

"Yes, sir, I didn't mean nothing by it." The boy cried.

They Romans started laughing and Lancelot's chest tightened in fury.

He got up and walked over to them.

"Is there a problem?" he asked calmly.

The men mustered him with disgust in their eyes and one of them said:

"Now that you're here, there is one." The other one sniggered.

Before he knew what was going on, he heard his companion gasp and felt something cold against his throat. He looked down and saw the gleaming edge of a sword poking his skin.

"Not a very wise thing to say." Lancelot hissed, holding his sword steady.

"Now let the boy down." He added, trying to control his anger.

The guard let the boy down who was shaking.

"Thank you, sir." He mumbled, flushing.

Lancelot picked up to gold coins from the table and gave them to the boy.

"As a compensation." He said winking and the boy took the money smiling.

"You can't do that!" one of the men bellowed.

"I can, and I just did and if you move one muscle or try to take that money back I'll cut your hands off." He hissed.

"Now get out!"

The two men hurriedly picked up their belongings and Lancelot followed them through the door, after receiving a thankful glance of the tavern owner.

It was still pouring outside and the rain had turned the street into a muddy river.

It was already growing dark outside and the air was sharp and cold.

"Where can I escort you, gentlemen?" Lancelot asked, his sword still in his hand.

"We'll be quite alright." One of them said eyeing him nervously.

"Oh, but I insist." Lancelot grinned.

He followed them over to a large, wooden cart.

"This your home?" he asked, enjoying the turn of the evening.

"No, we're passing through with… with some …" the man broke off.

"With some sheep." The other said quickly.

Lancelot had difficulties repressing a snort.

"Sheep?" he asked and the men nodded nervously.

He took a step nearer to the cart and tried to listen past the rain.

But what he heard were definitely not sheep.

He could hear a baby crying, a woman sobbing and a man talking.

He looked at the Romans, who were starting to panic.

"I didn't know sheep could talk. Is it a special kind of sheep?" he asked.

The Romans didn't answer.

Lancelot turned around and walked towards the back of the cart, which was locked by a huge wooden barrier. As he raised his sword one of the men raced forward:

"You can't do that! Those are vagabonds! Unholy people, traitors!"

One look from Lancelot silenced him.

With all his might he hit down on the barrier, which burst into two and fell to the muddy ground. He gripped the wooden door to the inside and thrust it open.

It was hard to see anything inside, it was almost black.

A horrible smell of too many people having been trapped together for too long escaped from the cart. Lancelot took a step back and yelled over the rain:

"Come out, no harm will come to you!"

After a moment he saw a movement in the darkness and a boy, not older than ten climbed out of the cart, staring at Lancelot in amazement.

An old short man followed him and Lancelot helped him climb down.

Man after man, woman after woman, child after child, came out of the cart and Lancelot couldn't believe that so many people could fit in there.

Then, everyone had left the cart and he wanted to close the door again when he heard something from the inside that sounded like irons. He frowned.

"You there!" he said to one of the men who had just gotten out.

"Is there still someone in there?"

"There's one left. But she can't come out. She's tied to the wall." The man answered.

Lancelot was about to climb onto the cart when the Roman guard came forward once more.

"Sir, you can't let her loose! She's insane, a witch!" he yelled.

Lancelot pretended not to hear him and climbed inside. He couldn't see anything, so he had to concentrate on hearing movements.

He heard slow breathing coming from straight ahead and took three tentative steps, then he bumped against something, that started thrashing around uncontrollably.

"Hold still, I won't hurt you!" he yelled, but the thrashing didn't stop.

He pushed himself against the person, pressing whoever it was against the wall so he couldn't move.

"I said, I won't hurt you." He said again, quietly.

He took a step back and the person stayed still.

He groped around to find the irons, with which the person was tied to the cart and hacked them away from the wood.

"Can you walk?" he asked, but he didn't get a response.

"Right. Come out with me." He said, turned and walked towards the hole.

He jumped onto the ground, mud splattering everywhere, the rain still pouring down from the grey sky.

He turned around to see who it was, that he had cut loose in there.

A small person, in a filthy rag was looking out of cart.

"Come on out!" he yelled.

The person jumped into the mud beside him and looked around wildly.

Lancelot felt the muscles in the person's body tighten and knew he would try to escape.

He took hold of the person's arm and tightened his grip.

"You're not going anywhere."

The person kicked him against the shin and spat in his face but he didn't let go.

Instead, he grabbed both arms and rammed the person against the cart.

He looked into the face and saw in amazement, that it was a young woman.

But it wasn't the fact that it was a woman, or that her face was covered in dirt, that made him hesitate.

It were her eyes.

Huge, and dark they seemed to burn into him and he could feel the hate and anger, that were directed at him in these eyes.

The girl hissed something in a language he didn't understand but it sounded strangely familiar.

One of the Roan guards took a tentative step towards them.

"I'd watch out if I were you."

"And why would you do that?" Lancelot asked.

"She's a Saxon."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Here's Chapter2:**

„She's a Saxon."

Lancelot fought the urge to let go off the girl as a sudden wave of anger, hate and revulsion swept over him. But he held her wrists firmly against the wood.

"Saxon? Bu the caravan with the Saxon prisoners left a week ago." He said in confusion.

The Roman nodded and answered with a sour expression on his face:

"She was one of those captured. But she escaped. It took us six days to find her."

Lancelot had difficulties suppressing a grin. He couldn't say he was surprised, Romans weren't really that bright.

He felt the girl shiver underneath him and looked at her.

She was still glaring at him, her face contorted in rage and hate, her eyes flashing.

"And I guess the reason you had her in irons is that she would have escaped without them?" he asked.

"That wasn't the only reason." The Roman said darkly. "She… well, she tends to be … quite aggressive. One of my men lost three teeth because of her!" Lancelot raised an eyebrow in disbelief. The girl seemed to have enough hate stored up in her to be alarming, but in his opinion she was far too small and thin to be a physical threat. "Who are all these other people?" he asked the guard. "Villagers, who were taken prisoners by the Saxons." The man answered. "The Saxons take prisoners? I thought they slaughtered everything in their path." Lancelot murmured. "Well they do. We think they only took these people as prisoners, as to ensure they wouldn't join in a battle against them." "Then why didn't they just kill them, like they normally do?" Lancelot asked. "Some of the prisoners said, they were going to be executed, but then the battle at Hadrian's Wall interfered with their plans. We think they were saving them up for later." "Yes, that would make sense. I don't think there is anyone who takes as much pleasure in killing as a Saxon." Lancelot muttered. "Where are you taking these people?" "We're taking them to Rome." The guard answered, suddenly looking slightly nervous. "To Rome? That is a long way. What do these people want there?" "I…" the man's voice faltered. "Our orders are to bring them to Rome." He said. "Ah, now I see. These people will be enslaved by your great Roman lords, won't they?" Lancelot growled. The guard didn't answer, but Lancelot knew, he had guessed right. Anger welled up inside him. "I don't think you'll take them to Rome. I think you will arrive there without the prisoners." He said calmly. "Sir, these are our orders! If we don't fulfil our duty-" the man began. "Your duty! Enslaving people is your duty to Rome? But of course, I'm not really surprised at this. Rome has a habit of robbing people of their freedom. But I tell you this, no matter what your orders, or your duties are, these people will not go to Rome with you. This is their country, their home and they will stay here." The guard looked at him, but he didn't speak. He seemed to have realized that he would only get into trouble if he disagreed with the knight. And if he was completely honest with himself, if he had to choose between his own life and the needs of Roman lords…well, that decision didn't take very long. "So be it." He hissed through gritted teeth, throwing Lancelot a nasty look. "If you care to be in Rome soon, I think it best, if you leave right now on your journey, wouldn't you agree?" Lancelot asked. His arms were growing tired from holding the girl down and he wanted this to be over soon. "What about the Saxon?" the guard asked, ignoring Lancelot's last statement. Lancelot looked thoughtfully at the girl again. It was a good question. She was a Saxon, an enemy to this country and him. Even if she wasn't some kind of animal, she would never be accepted here. On the other hand… if he let the men take her to Rome, she would be enslaved, and that wasn't a fate he wished for anyone. And anyway… she was only a girl. He highly doubted her to be dangerous. "She stays here as well." He said aloud and the guard nodded reluctantly, before going over to his friend. "If I let go off you," Lancelot said, turning to the girl again. "Will you promise not to try and run away?" The girl didn't answer, she just continued glaring at him. Lancelot sighed. Patience wasn't his greatest strength. "I will lock you up in the cellar if I have to." He threatened but still, the girl remained silent. "You there!" he called out to the Roman guard. "Does this girl ever speak?" he asked. "No. She never spoke a single word, throughout our journey. But she's not mute. Because she can scream." The guard said grinning slightly. Lancelot nodded and didn't ask why; he didn't really want to know. He clenched his fists around the girl's wrists tighter and pulled her away from the cart. She stumbled slightly, splashing her already dirty rag with mud.

"All of you!" Lancelot yelled out to the prisoners. "You will not be taken to Rome! You will stay here, in your country! And for the time being, I suggest you stay right here, the tavern has some rooms available, I will make sure you all have a dry place to sleep tonight and tomorrow, we'll hopefully be able to get you some sort of transportation, so you can return to your villages and homes!" A woman started crying and the relief that washed over the people was almost visible. Lancelot turned to the man standing nearest to him:

"Make sure everyone stays together and lead them to the tavern just on the other side of road. Say Lancelot has sent you and that the rooms will be paid for in the morning." The man nodded and with the help of two other prisoners, started leading the prisoners away. Lancelot turned towards the Roam guards his fists still tightly wrapped around the Saxon girl's thin wrists.

"Gentlemen. Don't you think you should start your journey?" he said. The Romans exchanged a glance and with a look of fury at Lancelot they closed the cart door and started guiding the horses around, onto the street. Lancelot turned towards the girl.

"Now, will you promise not to run away if I let go off your arms?" he asked once again. The girl just continued to glare at him and Lancelot sighed in frustration. Gripping her wrists slightly harder than necessary he guided her towards the knight's quarters.

"You're not making this very easy." He muttered, as they walked over the muddy street. He turned to look at the cart, which was making its way through the street and unconsciously let go of one of the girl's wrist. Before he could so much as blink, the girl attacked him. With a force he would have thought impossible to come from such a small fist she punched him right under his left eye. Pain exploded in his skin and his bone, but he didn't let go off her other wrist. He tried to catch her other arm, but before he could reach it she started clawing at him with her fingers. He was able to duck before her nails scratched his other eye, but she didn't stop. With a cry of rage she managed to make contact with his cheek, scratching open the skin. Lancelot growled and shoved her hard. She fell to the ground and before she could get up he threw himself onto her, trying to avoid getting his face too near hers, because he was certain she would try and use her teeth. She screamed in fury and tried to push him off with her other arm. He quickly caught it and pressed it into the mud.

"You little…" Trying to swallow down his anger and also embarrassment at being hit by a girl, he got up and yanked her up, ignoring her hiss of pain as he swiftly turned her around and pushed her arms up behind her back. "Hold still!" he growled and pushed her towards the building where the knights resided, the scratches on his cheek burning. Not wanting to risk getting attacked again he didn't open the door but banged his foot against it. It seemed to take an eternity before he heard movement behind the wood. The door opened and Galahad stood before him, clearly annoyed at being awakened in the middle of the night. "Lancelot, you goddamn-" then he saw the girl, shaking with fury, wearing only a rag and covered in mud from head to foot and Lancelot's mutilated face. Galahad stared at him in confusion. "What's all this about?" he asked, as Lancelot pushed past him, the girl stumbling over the stone threshold. "A cart with Saxon prisoners was supposed to travel to Rome to enslave the people there. I … I was able to convince the guards to let them stay here." Lancelot explained. Galahad raised an eyebrow at him. "You _convinced_ them? Forced them to is more likely." He said grinning and looked at the girl. "And she's one of them?" he asked. Lancelot shook his head. "She's a Saxon." He answered. Galahad stared at him. "A Saxon? And why the hell would you bring a Saxon here?" he asked. "What else was I supposed to do?" Lancelot asked irritated. Galahad sighed exasperated. "If it were Arthur standing before me right now I wouldn't even be amazed at his good heartedness, but you…" he broke off. Lancelot looked at him darkly and Galahad shrugged. "So what now? Where should she stay? Your room?" Galahad asked, amusement visible in his eyes. "I'd rather sleep outside." Lancelot muttered. "She'd cut my throat the minute I'd close my eyes." "And does that quality surprise you in a Saxon?" Lancelot couldn't help but grin. "Not really. Still, I do rather fancy still living tomorrow. I think it would be safer to lock her in the cellar." Galahad looked at him in astonishment. "The cellar? You want to lock her up?" "If you care to look like me," Lancelot said, pointing at the bleeding scratches and his swollen eye. "Be my guest, you can share your room with her." Galahad didn't even consider it. "Right then, the cellar it is." He said brightly and followed Lancelot down the hall, until they reached the cellar door. Lancelot kicked it open and cold air rushed out of the darkness. "Don't you think it's too cold down there? She could easily freeze to death." Galahad said. "I'm sure she'll live." Lancelot growled and pushed the girl's back, so she would start descending the stairs, but she didn't move. He pushed her harder, but she stood rooted to the ground. "Maybe she's afraid of the dark?" Galahad said and Lancelot laughed. "I highly doubt it. I think she realizes she can't escape from down there. I could really use Gawain right now. If we could cut off a bit of his mane we could tie her hands together." He said and Galahad snorted. "Why don't you just tare off a bit of the rag she's wearing and use that? It would do until tomorrow." "You're right, that would be the best solution. Rip off some of it, would you?" Galahad snaked around Lancelot and the girl and took hold of them hem of the rag to rip some off it. The girl let out a scream and started thrashing about uncontrollably, kicking Galahad in the face who stumbled down a couple of steps cursing furiously, holding his noise. Lancelot had trouble holding the girl. "Just do it, would you?" he yelled to his friend, as the girl tried to kick him as well. "Can't we just hit her over the heads with a brick or something!" Galahad yelled back, blood trickling out of his nose. But he took a step towards her and when she tried to kick him again he took hold of the leg and quickly tore off a piece of the rough fabric she was wearing. Then he instinctively took back a couple of steps.

"Get up here, will you?" Lancelot growled, tightening his grip around the girl's wrists, forcing them up and the girl groaned in pain, but she didn't stop thrashing. Galahad slid past them and tied her hands together, while Lancelot was holding them still. "Make sure it's tight." He said. "It is." Galahad said, blood still seeping from his nostrils. Lancelot let go off her wrists and quickly bent down to throw the girl over his shoulder. She starting screaming again, kicking him, but he ignored it, swiftly walked down the stairs and dumped her unceremoniously onto the cold wet floor. He raced up the stairs, aware that she would try to catch up to escape. He and Galahad quickly ran out. She was only at the bottom of the stairs when they thrust the door shut and Lancelot locked it, both of them rather out of breath. "Lancelot." Galahad said, wiping the blood from his face, trying to catch his breath, leaning against door. "I think we just imprisoned the devil in our cellar." Lancelot wasn't entirely sure he was joking.

**I know, it's a rather short chapter, but I thought it best to let it end here.**

**Reviews, people, pleeeease!!!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright, here's Chapter3…I won't have a lot of time over the next few days so it might be a while before I can update again…thanks for all the reviews and enjoy:**

The barmaid was beautiful. There was no other way of putting it. She wasn't fair or just pretty, she was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful in fact. Lancelot's eyes were mesmerized by her appearance, he couldn't tare his gaze away from her. She turned around and caught him staring at her; unlike Galahad, who would have quickly lowered his eyes, flushing bright red at being caught eyeing a woman, Lancelot hold her gaze steadily, knowing full well, what kind of effect this had on most women. The barmaid was no exception. She blushed and looked down, a small smile was visible on her full lips. She looked up at him again, and when she found him still looking at her, she picked up a mug of ale from the bar and slowly made his towards him. She was slender, but had curves in all the right places, and her dress did everything but hide the fact, being very low cut in the front. Her marble-like skin was glowing in the fire light, her long golden hair falling straight down to her perfect waist, her blue eyes sparkling as she came nearer and nearer…

"Lancelot! Get up, you lazy bastard!"

Lancelot was brutally ripped out of his excellent dream, to find Gawain standing over him.

"Gawain, you…ugh! I was having the best of dreams." Lancelot growled, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His friend grinned, not in the least bit sorry.

"I can imagine what kind of dream that was. Seeing as you experience that kind of dream in real life on a daily basis however, I'm not feeling too guilty. Now get up, Arthur wants to see us." And with that he roughly pulled the blanket off Lancelot who yelped as cold air surrounded him.

"Sometimes I really hate you." He muttered getting up, swaying slightly. "I'll live." Gawain said sarcastically and left the room. Lancelot quickly washed over the stone basin, got dressed and left his room. Just as he was closing the door behind him, Galahad came up behind him.

"Interesting." He said looking at Lancelot who raised an eyebrow at him in irritation. "What is interesting?" he asked, as they started walking towards Arthur's quarters.

"Well, your face looked bad last night. But today it's possibly extraordinary. The violet of the bruise on your cheek really brings out the colour of your eyes." Galahad said, grinning.

"How funny." Lancelot murmured darkly, punching Galahad on the arm but he merely laughed, as they entered Arthur's room.

Arthur, Gawain and Bors were already there.

"About bloody time." Bors said irritated, his forehead creasing.

"What's the matter with you?" Galahad asked surprised, looking at Bors; Gawain grinned. "Vanora's starting to put pressure on him. If he doesn't marry her in the next three weeks, he can find himself someone else." Everyone except Bors sniggered.

"Looks like it's getting serious, Bors." Lancelot said, sitting down on a wooden chair.

"If you don't marry Vanora anytime soon, she really will come to me." The knights laughed, but Bors continued to look as though someone close to him had just died yesterday.

"There's nothing funny about that, so shut your mouth, Lancelot!" he snapped grumpily. "There are definitely more interesting things. For example, who are all those people in the tavern, why is our cellar door locked and the key gone and how did you get that brilliant black eye and cuts on your girly face?" he added. Lancelot flashed him an angry look.

"Hit a nerve there, did I?" Bors asked, grinning. Lancelot refused to answer.

"That actually is a good question." Arthur said, frowning at Lancelot's injured face.

"The question isn't _how _did he get it, it's _who_ did it." Galahad said.

"Who was it?" Bors asked eagerly. "If you didn't killed them, I will seriously consider marrying them." Gawain snorted, but one look from Lancelot shut him up.

"Yesterday Roman guards passed through with some prisoners the Saxons had taken. They were taking them to Rome to enslave them. I made sure they left without them." Lancelot explained.

"I see. Good work, Lancelot." Arthur said brightly, and the other knights rolled their eyes at each other. He really was adapting to the role of king quickly. Next thing they knew, they might have to kiss his ring. Lancelot suppressed a laugh at this thought.

"And as a 'thank you' for saving them from slavery, one of them punched you?" Bors asked.

"No. That was a Saxon girl." Lancelot sighed, feeling his dignity vanish. The knights looked at him dumbstruck, except Galahad who reached up and touched his still rather tender nose.

"I'm sorry, I think I heard wrong. A _Saxon _girl hit you?" Gawain asked astonished.

"Yes. She was supposed to be among the Saxons imprisoned. She was with the caravan that left three weeks ago, but she escaped and it took them some time to catch her. I thought it best if she stayed here as well, I don't think anyone deserves slavery, and she's only a girl."

"You say that even after she did… well, _that_ to you?" Bors asked, pointing at Lancelot's face.

"So it was a Saxon girl..." Gawain said. "I thought you had a visit from a rather rough tavern girl last night." Everyone sniggered, and even Lancelot couldn't help but grin at the comment.

"I have a story about that, actually. There was this girl, I can't remember her name-"

"We don't really need to know." Bors said, rolling his eyes at Lancelot.

"Where is the girl now?" Arthur asked. Galahad and Lancelot looked at each other.

"Probably frozen to death." Galahad mumbled.

"Huh?" Gawain asked, staring at them confusedly. Lancelot sighed.

"I thought it best to lock her in the cellar, before she hurt anyone." He explained.

"You mean anyone _else_." Bors muttered and Galahad sniggered. Lancelot glared at him.

"Why are you laughing? She kicked you in the face, your nose was bleeding!" he said.

"This is getting better and better" Gawain said, he and Bors laughing as Galahad turned red.

"The cellar?" Arthur said, getting back to the point. Lancelot shrugged.

"That wasn't very gentlemanly of you." Gawain stated, looking at Lancelot.

"Well, I could have let her sleep in your room. In fact, why don't you try that out this night, and I'll come by in the morning to see if your still alive." Lancelot growled angrily.

"Would you look at that." Bors said amusedly. "There's a girl Lancelot can't handle."

"Who would have thought it." Arthur said and Lancelot glared at his best friend.

"I'm glad you all find this so amusing. How about I show you why I chose to lock her up!"

"Fine by me." Gawain said and Bors grunted in approval.

They got up and made their way through the stone corridor towards the cellar door. When they were standing in front of it, lead by Lancelot and Galahad, Lancelot turned towards them "I tied her hands last night, but I'm not sure if she wasn't able to free herself. If she did she's going to try to escape, so be careful." He said.

Bors laughed and said: "_You're_ warning us about a girl. This is a historical moment." Gawain grinned. Lancelot ignored them.

"Alright." He said, took the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He and Galahad looked at each other, Galahad looked almost scared, then Lancelot swung the door open. It was completely dark, except for the streak of light, that came from the door. Lancelot pushed it wide open. They could see the stairs and the dirty floor and a few barrels of ale, but the girl was gone. They all looked at each other in confusion.

"Impossible." Lancelot muttered. "She can't have escaped, I had the key with me and the door was locked until now. And there's no window."

He made a step into the room and almost immediately wished he hadn't. as soon as he moved inside, he heard a cry and before he could jump out of the way, the girl's foot collided with his nose. Pain exploded behind his closed eyes and he stumbled backwards. He quickly opened his eyes again. The girl practically jumped him and started clawing at him, a scene he was already familiar with. The other knights shouted and tried to pull her off their friend. But it wasn't that easy. Only with the joined forces of four, were they able to pull the screaming and kicking girl off Lancelot. They crashed her into the wall and she moaned in pain.

"I told you!" Lancelot yelled, carefully touching his nose to see if it was broken.

"She's insane!" Gawain yelled, as he forced the girl's hand down.

"You think?" Lancelot yelled angrily. That was the second time she had managed to attack him. It just wasn't good for his reputation if word got out about it.

"And it looks like she was able to get rid off the cloth!" Galahad said, struggling with her other arm. Lancelot sighed as he watched them struggling with the thrashing girl.

"How on earth are we going to get her to settle down?" Gawain asked.

"If we all died a horrible death and let her go free, I think she would be content." Lancelot said sarcastically, racking his brain. "Look how thin she is. She must not have eaten anything in a long time. I'm pretty sure the guards weren't too keen to feed her on the journey, one of them lost three teeth because of her." He said, looking at the thrashing girl.

"I can't really say that amazes me." Gawain bitterly said through gritted teeth.

"I can't believe she has that much strength left. And with struggling this much, I'm guessing, whatever strength there's left, will be gone very soon." Lancelot concluded, as the girl, tried to catch her breath, trying to break free from the fists holding her down.

"You're right." Arthur gasped, trying to hold her clawing hand away from him.

"I hope I'm not getting this right." Gawain panted. "Please tell me you're not suggesting that we hold her down until she's too weak to move, that could take years."

"No, that's not what I mean. Although it's not a bad idea either." Lancelot grinned. "Let's tie her up, with something she can't remove and wait." He suggested.

"I'm all for it! You're the one not doing anything, go get some irons, will you!" Bors bellowed and Lancelot hurried out. He quickly returned with a whole bunch of irons. He let them drop to the floor, the clanking sound echoing from the stone walls. He picked up a pair of irons and walked over to the arm Arthur was holding down.

"Hurry up, would you!" Galahad yelled, sweat running down the side of his face.

"Yeah, yeah." Lancelot mumbled, as he closed the iron around the slender wrist of the girl. She screamed, and when he looked at her he found that she was glaring at him, the fury and hate visible in her eyes. He didn't really care.

"You have to turn her around, so I can close the irons behind her back." He said. Arthur grabbed the ironed hand and tried to turn the girl around. Lancelot rolled his eyes.

"Don't be so hesitant." He sighed and shoved Arthur out of the way. He held on tight to the iron attached to her left hand, yanked her away from the wall, Galahad and Bors let go off her arm quickly. Lancelot shoved her against the wall brutally, pressing his weight against her body, as he grabbed her other hand and closed the iron around it. Then he quickly stepped away. The girl didn't turn around or started kicking at them. Lancelot found this rather clever, because they were standing at the edge of a rather long staircase and without the use of her arms, she would certainly fall down and break her neck.

She slowly slid down the wall, cowering down on the floor with her back to the knights who looked at each other, uncertain what to do next. Her body began to shake and Galahad, Gawain, Arthur and Bors took a step back in alarm.

"Lancelot." Bors said "You take over. We're not good with crying women."

"His normal method won't work here though." Gawain said, still staring at the girl. "I'm pretty certain she won't let him charm her and then go to bed with him."

"I agree. But I'm sure Lancelot will come up with something else." Bors said and before Lancelot could utter anything, Bors had fled the room, Galahad and Gawain at his heels. Lancelot looked at Arthur, who was slowly sliding towards the door.

"I'm sure you'll … manage. I have faith in you." He said and followed his friends.

Lancelot let out a growl and made a mental note to kill his "friends" at the next possibility. He turned towards the shaking girl, drawing a hand through his dark hair. Slowly he stepped towards her. He bent down and hesitantly reached out to touch her shoulder. As soon as he had touched her, she jerked. But he didn't pull his hand away, he turned her around, although she was trying to escape his touch. When he looked at her face he realized, she wasn't crying. Well, she was, but she didn't have a desperate, sad look in her eyes. She was glaring at him, her dark, huge eyes filled with anger, frustration and hate and Lancelot was sure, the reason she was crying was the frustration and anger at herself, because she had let herself be put in irons.

"Well, you won't be able to scratch out my eyes now." He said, grinning. The girl spat him in the face. Lancelot brushed his sleeve over his face and sighed, sitting down on the ground. "You can scream, kick and spit all you want, little girl, but it won't make a difference. You won't get out of here and pretty soon you'll be too weak to even whisper, so I suggest that, instead of trying to kill me, you start being a bit more cooperative, if you don't want to starve to death, that is." He wasn't very keen on being spit on again so he didn't grin this time. The girl didn't show any sign, that she had heard him, her eyes still gleaming, but she was sitting quite still. Lancelot couldn't help mentally clapping himself on the shoulder.

"Okay, here's what I'm going to do. I'll get you something to eat and if you're nice, I'll let you have some of it." He didn't wait for an answer, but got up and left in search for the kitchen. Returning a couple of minutes later with some bread, meat and water he sat down again and looked at the Saxon. He saw that she was trying to glare at him, but caught her gaze drifting towards the food longingly a couple of times. He broke off a piece of bred and held it out in front of her.

"Here." He held it right under her nose. But she just jerked her head back. Lancelot sighed. "Just eat it, will you?" he said exasperated, still holding it out in front of him. After a couple of seconds of continued glaring, she hesitantly bent forward and snatched the piece of bread away with her mouth, chewing greedily. Lancelot couldn't help but smile, as he broke another piece of bread off the loaf and continued feeding her. When the bread, meat and water were all gone he let his eyes travel over the girl. She was too thin, he could see her bones sticking out under her pale skin. Nearly every inch of her was covered in dry mud and her hair, looking as though she had washed it with mud, looked like it could use a brush.

"I think you should take a bath." He said, getting to his feet. "Vanora will help you with it." He bowed down and tried to take hold of her arm. She quickly scrambled away from him, her eyes suddenly filled with fear and horror.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you." Lancelot said, reaching out again but she backed up against the wall, her eyes growing even wider with fear. Lancelot got down next to her, trying to look as trustworthy as possible and held out his hand in front of her. She eyed him suspiciously, but when he slowly reached out for her arm, she didn't flinch back. He got to his feet, pulling her up with him. She followed him through the door and down the stone hall, her eyes drinking everything in. he stopped in front of a door and banged against it. After a while he heard some movement behind it and it opened. Vanora looked at him, then at the girl, a smirk on her lips.

"So this is the girl that Bors is so afraid of? I should have a talk with her."

"What a good idea!" Lancelot said too brightly and Vanora raised her eyebrows at him. "You could have a chat with her. And make her have a bath while doing so." He said. "Typical." Vanora said, rolling her eyes, before she looked at the girl again. "But she could really do with a bath. Alright then, give her here." She sighed and took the girl's arm. "You'll have to take off the irons however." She said, looking at the Saxon's tied hands.

"Why?" Lancelot wanted to know. Vanora looked at him in disbelief.

"How am I supposed to dress and undress her with tied hands?" she asked. "Well, you can cut that rag off and please burn it. And as for the dressing… Just let her run around naked." Lancelot said, and winked at Vanora, who gave him a loathing look.

"I'll think of something _else_." She said, pulled the girl inside the room and slammed the door shut. Lancelot turned around and looked down the hallway.

Now that this mission was fulfilled, he would go and find his fellow knights, so he could kill them.

**REVIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW please!!!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the long ****delay, I was away last week and had a lot of stuff to deal with over the weekend. So here's chapter four:**

„So…what are we going to do with the former captives? Any suggestions?"

They were sitting outside the tavern, the sun shining down on the knights, who were drinking some ale to cool off.

"Simple, really." Lancelot answered, blinking against the sunlight. "We have to arrange some sort of caravans to take them back to their villages."

Gawain snorted. "Most of their villages were destroyed by the Saxons anyway, some of them don't have a home anymore." He grumbled.

"Gawain's right." Arthur said, nodding. "We all know the ways of the Saxons, nothing will be left."

"Well, what are we going to do then? They can't stay here, there's not enough room." Galahad said.

"Anywhere's better than Rome." Lancelot mumbled grimly, throwing a quick glance at Arthur, who pretended not to have heard him.

"_Anyway_" Galahad said, glaring at Lancelot, who just shrugged. "We have to figure out how to deal with this situation. They will have eaten our supplies within a week and then we will have a problem."

"You think?" Bors grunted, looking sulky, staring at his dirty fingernails.

"I honestly don't understand you." Gawain said, turning to his fellow knight. "You have about a dozen perfect children with a beautiful woman, who wants to marry you and somehow… you don't want to marry her. You, my friend, are a riddle to me."

"Hear, hear." Galahad said, raising his mug, receiving a death stare from Bors.

"It's not that." He mumbled moodily.

"Changed her mind, did she?" Lancelot said. "I always told you she would end up with me Bors. No harm done, right?" The knights sniggered, even Bors grinned slightly.

"It's not like I'm afraid of marrying." He sighed, leaning back. "Sure, having to endure one single woman for the rest of your life is scary enough, but…I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about her. If she marries me, it's like it's final. We're bound to each other and everything. What if I get myself killed two weeks later? What's she going to do then?"

No one answered. They all stared at Bors in astonishment.

"Putting aside the fact that I never would have thought you capable of saying anything which might indicate emotions, the question is stupid. If she doesn't marry you and you get killed two weeks from now, where's the difference?" Lancelot said.

"If you're married, it's…forever. I guess you develop a totally different feeling for the person and it makes it even harder to let go and move on." Galahad said.

"Oh yeah?" Lancelot snorted, looking at his friend. "And when did you become such an expert in the ways of holy matrimony?"

"Lancelot, you really are the most arrogant arse I ever met." Gawain said dryly. "Bors is actually getting deep with us and you try to cover it up with jokes."

"That's because he's not very comfortable with the subject of feelings." Arthur piped in before Lancelot could respond. "Sure, he can definitely charm a woman by _saying_ things about feeling, but actually _feeling_ them…that's not one of his strengths."

"Why's that then?" Galahad asked curious. "Got burnt, did you?"

Lancelot didn't answer. He surely wasn't going to tell them that he had actually felt something more than simple attraction to Guinevere. Arthur would have his head.

"I think we hit the spot." Gawain said wickedly.

"Can you stop harassing the guy and focus on my problem?" Bors bellowed.

Lancelot threw him a thankful glance and Bors grinned.

"You're right." Arthur said, his face growing serious again.

"I still think you should marry Vanora." Galahad said.

"Why?" Gawain asked, receiving rolled eyes and moans from Arthur and Lancelot.

"What?" he asked, shrugging.

"Why can't you just agree with him, do you really need a reason for everything?" Lancelot asked.

"Well, no." Gawain said. "But Bors needs a good reason I think. You do, don't you?"

"Sure do." Bors muttered, inspecting his knuckles.

"Well, that's easy!" Galahad exclaimed. "You want to marry Vanora, because…well, uh…I mean… it's obvious isn't it? … you want to marry her, because…umh…" he broke off, looking desperately at the other knights, who weren't able to complete his sentence.

"Because you….love her?" Galahad said.

"That sounded more like a question, than a statement." Gawain said.

"Well said then." Arthur interrupted. "I think that is the main question: do you love Vanora?"

They all looked at Bors expectantly. He looked up at them, his forehead screwed up. Then he shook his head in annoyance.

"Argh, what is this? When did we turn into such … women? We're not supposed to talk about _feelings_!" he said frustrated.

"I guess we're just…" Arthur began, trailing off.

"…just getting old." Gawain said, leaving them all in shock.

"Oi!" the voice made them jump and turn their heads.

"Why are you looking like someone just died?" Vanora asked, coming around the corner.

"We're getting old." Gawain said stricken and Vanora snorted, standing beside Bors.

"Well, I'm not!" Galahad said grinning. "I might be growing more _mature_, but not old. Unlike Bors here, he's already growing grey. Now I know why you shave your head."

Arthur, Gawain and Lancelot burst out laughing.

"I don't understand why that's funny." Vanora said coolly, stroking Bors bald head.

"Grey hair looks very distinguished, women adore that." She said and kissed him soundly.

The knights all looked at each other and then at Bors, whose ears had turned bright red.

"I think you know what that means." Lancelot said.

"What?" Vanora asked confusedly.

"Nothing!" Bors said quickly, looking alarmed. Lancelot had to snigger.

"Oh, your girlfriend is washed and dressed. Or at least I hope so." Vanora said to him.

"Er…who?" he asked confusedly, racking his brain, but he couldn't think of any girlfriend.

"The one you left for me to clean." Vanora said, rolling his eyes at him.

"Who, the Saxon girl?" Gawain snorted. "I think Lancelot would rather cut off his hands, than consider a Saxon girl."

"You never know with him. He's a total dog." Bors said.

"Please don refer to me as an animal." Lancelot said, wrinkling his nose.

"I enjoy female company, that is all." Everyone sniggered as he winked at them.

"So, did you have any problems with her?" he asked Vanora.

"Well, it certainly wasn't easy." Vanora answered, sighing. "At first, she wouldn't let me take off her rag, I thought she was going to scratch my eyes out. I told where the hot water was and I think she understood what I meant, but she refused to take off her dress. So eventually I left the room, locking it behind me. When I came back twenty minutes later, she was washed and was trying to get into the dress. I have no idea what Saxons wear, because she was acting as though she had no idea how to put the dress on. She threw a right fit when I tried to help her, but in the end, she managed to get her head and arms through the right holes."

"God knows I wouldn't have had that kind of patience. I would have knocked her out so she would shut up." Lancelot mumbled.

"You know, I really don't know how you manage to charm women, when you talk like that." Gawain said.

"I don't say the things I say behind their back to their faces." Lancelot answered dryly.

"Oh my! Someone should warn the ladies!" Gawain said grinning.

"Where is she now?" Arthur asked, before Lancelot could retort.

"Well, I wasn't quite sure, whether it was safe to let her out on her own, so I locked her up in my room." Vanora answered.

"Good idea, that girl is a witch. She would have tried to escape immediately. Bring her here, will you?" Lancelot said. Vanora shot him a death glare, but got up and went to the building.

"Like I said, I think you should marry her." Galahad said after some minutes pause.

"I agree." Gawain said and Arthur nodded.

"You know that normally, I'd rather feed myself to the wolves than agree with Lancelot, but he's not entirely wrong. Vanora is a beautiful woman, she meets a lot of men during work, she won't wait forever." Gawain added.

"I guess…" Bors mumbled, looking as though the world was ending.

"Come on, dear friend." Arthur said, clapping him on the back. "Marriage isn't all bad, you know."

"Yeah? What are the profits?" Bors asked.

"Well, I…" Arthur began, but didn't continue. Lancelot and Gawain snorted.

"That was brilliant Arthur, really." Galahad said with a sour expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, I just…"

"…couldn't think of anything?" Lancelot said, still grinning.

"Shut up!" Galahad hissed, looking rather angry at his fellow knights.

"Why is Vanora taking so long with the girl?" Lancelot said, changing the subject before things got out of hand.

"Maybe she killed her, I wouldn't put anything past a Saxon, even if it is a woman." Bors mumbled, looking worried.

"Stop it, Bors. I'm sure everything is fine. Maybe she's helping her with her hair or something right now. Who knows, maybe she is a breathtaking beauty." Gawain said.

"She might change Lancelot's opinion about Saxons. Well, about Saxon women, that is. Do you think there's a possibility, Lancelot? Lancelot? Are you listening to me? What are you staring at? What's there?" Gawain asked, staring at his friend.

But Lancelot wasn't listening to him. He was gaping at the girl at Vanora's side. He was sure he had never seen such a beautiful woman in his whole life, even Guinevere couldn't compare. She looked a little like the barmaid he had dreamed of earlier that day. She, too had long blonde hair, a fine complexion and her dress was hugging her in all the right places.

"Oh my…" Galahad breathed, staring as well, looking like a puppy.

"I never thought Saxon women could be that pretty." Gawain said surprised.

"What are you talking about?" Vanora asked confusedly.

"You really think she's pretty?" she asked, turning around, dragging someone by the sleeve.

Lancelot had been so entranced by the blonde girl that he hadn't noticed someone walking right behind Vanora. But he recognized the girl, even though all the mud was gone now.

She wasn't pretty at all. Her face was pale, her cheeks hollow and all her bones were visible from under the dress. Her dark unruly curls were falling over her shoulders down her back. She had dark shadows under her enormous, almost black eyes. He wouldn't even have considered her to be plain. Ugly was more like it. His gaze quickly returned to the blonde girl.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice automatically adapting a velvety quality.

"Here we go." Gawain murmured, trying to hide his grin, while Arthur rolled his eyes.

The girl giggled in a way that told Lancelot exactly where she was going to spend the night.

"Knock it off, Lancelot." Vanora said, her voice hard and shoved the Saxon girl at him.

"She's your responsibility again. You take care of her and stop flirting with the former captives. You'll have gotten them all pregnant before we can get them out of here."

"But-" Lancelot began, his arms automatically closing around the girl's waist as she fell against him. She really only was skin and bones. This was the only thing he could think of before the girl shoved him off hard and he nearly fell off his chair.

"That was graceful." Galahad remarked and Lancelot glared furiously at him.

"That's another good question." Arthur said. "What are we going to do with the girl? We can't keep her here."

"Send a messenger to the caravan with the Saxon prisoners and tell them to wait, then send her. Or send her with a messenger." Lancelot suggested gazing at the blonde girl's chest.

"Enjoying the view, are you?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, it would be a shame not to." Lancelot answered, winking at her.

"Stay away from him, he can give you nothing." Vanora said warningly.

"Oh, I get the impression he can give me … _something_." The girl said.

The knights stared at her in shock.

"You are quite forward." Vanora said dryly, eyeing the girl with clear distaste.

"And she has every reason to be." Lancelot said. "You can afford it."

"Right you are, sir Knight." The girl said and winked at him.

"Lancelot, before you undress _this_ girl right now, please take care of _that_ girl." Vanora said, pointing at the Saxon girl. Lancelot sighed.

"Well, like I said, we should take her to the Saxon prisoners." He said.

"Good." Arthur said, stretching on his chair. "You'll take her then." He added.

"Who, me?" Lancelot asked dumbfounded. "I certainly won't!"

"Sure you will. You were the one who had to be the hero and now you can try the bitter taste of it." Arthur said, while Galahad and Gawain were grinning.

"But, I…" Lancelot broke off. He really couldn't argue against that.

"Ugh, fine." He growled moodily. Then he caught the blonde girl's eyes and she smirked. His spirits lifted in a nanosecond.

"But I'll do that tomorrow. I have a feeling I have to spend the night here." He said.

The girl giggled, Vanora looked like she was going to vomit and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Lancelot." Gawain said.

"Yes?" Lancelot asked, his eyes still fixed on the pretty girl in front of him.

"You are disgusting."

**Oookay that was it. Sorry if it's rather short, but I have an exam tomorrow so I shouldn't really be up till three in the morning. A next, and longer, chapter will be up shortly. Until then: review, people, revieeeeeew!!!! Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 5

**OH MY GOD! I am SO sorry! I have been so busy these past few weeks, but now I have holidays, so hopefully there won't be such a gap again…Enjoy!**

Lancelot opened his eyes. The sun was shining through the window in his room, illuminating everything in a golden light. He yawned and wanted to stretch, but found that something was pinning him down on the bed; a thing located on his right shoulder. He looked down and had to grin. Of course, how on earth could he have forgotten?

The beautiful girl he had met at the pub the day before was sleeping heavily, draped over his shoulder. He wanted to congratulate himself for his immense charm and capability of talking women into his bed, but then remembered, that this girl had been very… cooperative from the first second, so it really didn't count. As carefully as he could, he pulled his arm out from under her. She didn't even stir, as he got up, dressed and left the room.

Walking down the stone corridor a small smile curved his lips. If he told Gawain and Galahad about his newest achievement, they would fume. Feeling very proud of himself, he didn't realize Gawain was running up behind him until he shouted at him and Lancelot turned around.

"Good morning, my friend," He said brightly "and how did you sleep?"

"Er…fine, I slept fine." Gawain said impatiently.

"Really? As a matter of fact, so did I. Mostly, because I was accompanied by a very beautiful girl, who-"

"Yeah, I thought as much," Gawain said through gritted teeth "Because as soon as a pretty girl crosses your path, you forget everything else, especially your obligations. And this particular girl didn't fail to do the same."

"Huh?" Lancelot asked dumbfounded "What obligation are you talking about? I didn't-"

"Oh yes you did!" Gawain said infuriated "You were supposed to take care of that insane Saxon slave girl that was locked up in the cellar yesterday!"

"Who are you- oh, _her_! Yeah, I shouldn't have forgotten that, especially seeing as she tried to take my eye out. Sorry about that." He said shrugging.

"You're not even sorry!" Gawain bellowed. Lancelot stared at him.

"Why in the name of God are you in such a foul mood?" he asked his friend.

"Because your little mistake almost cost Arthur his life." He said, his voice low.

"_What_?" Lancelot shouted, his eyes widening in horror.

"You started flirting with that blonde girl, instead of taking care of the crazy one and she disappeared. No one noticed, especially not you," He said, glaring at Lancelot. "Well after midnight Arthur wanted to retire to his quarters, he left the pub and was walking across the street when that bitch jumped him from behind a corner and tried to kill him with a knife we believe she stole from the kitchen. Luckily, Galahad heard Arthur fall and grunt and he was able to pull her off him, before she could do any serious damage."

Lancelot couldn't say anything. He just stared at Gawain, who wasn't looking at him in a very friendly way.

He had forgotten all about that girl. His mistake had almost killed Arthur. _He _had almost killed his best friend!

"I…" he began, but he wasn't sure what he wanted to say, so he broke off.

Gawain sighed and ran a hair through his mane.

"Do you want to see Arthur?" he asked, sounding almost nice.

Lancelot nodded and they made their way through the corridor towards Arthur's room.

Gawain pushed the wooden door open and they entered. Lancelot's stomach churned. Arthur was lying on his bed. His face was covered in scratches, some of them seemed to have opened again and blood was trickling down his cheek. His right eye was swollen and bright purple. A large bandage was draped around his chest, Lancelot could see a bit of blood seeping through the white material. Arthur's normal eye was closed and his breathing heavy. Guinevere was at his side, holding his hand, looking furious rather than agitated.

When she saw Lancelot entering, she jumped up and stormed up to him.

Lancelot would never have admitted it, but the look in her eyes actually made him fear for his life.

"You," She hissed, her face contorted in anger "You! You had to go free that little minx and then you couldn't take care of her and who has to pay for your mistake?"

"Calm yourself." Arthur grunted from the bed and Guinevere fell silent.

Lancelot walked past her quickly over to his friend. He kneeled down beside him.

"I am so, so sorry for this, my dear friend." He said, feeling immensely guilty.

"Don't be," Arthur mumbled through a swollen lip. "How could you have known? And I think that even if you had kept an eye on her she would have tried to escape; she's rather clever." He added. Guinevere snorted.

"She's _dead_, that's what she will be." She said furiously.

"Now, now!" Gawain said in alarm. "There's no need to get so barbaric."

"Wouldn't you, if she had done _that_," Guinevere pointed at Arthur, "to your wife?"

Gawain didn't respond. It was answer enough.

"Still, we won't kill her," Arthur said, looking sternly at his wife. "She'll be sent to the Saxon slave camp as we planned yesterday."

His wife looked as though she was going to argue, but then thought the better of it and nodded, though with some difficulty.

"Now, I really feel like getting some sleep, I can't open my eye anyway." Arthur said brightly, grinned as best as he could at his fellow knights and waved at them with a bandaged arm as they left his chamber.

"Boy, that was close," Galahad said, letting out a breath.

"True. Arthur's lucky you came along when you did," Gawain grunted and they looked at Lancelot. He avoided their gaze; he was feeling terrible enough as it were.

Women! It wasn't his fault, really. If that, that blonde girl hadn't shown up, he would have been able to focus. It was her fault, not his. But even he didn't believe what he was thinking.

"Where's the girl now?" he asked, looking up at his two friends.

"I think they locked her up in the cellar again," Galahad said. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," Lancelot said, though a little so savagely.

"No, Lancelot. You will not cut off her head," Gawain said.

"It doesn't necessarily have to be the head. An arm will do." Lancelot grunted.

"And those words from a lady's man?" Gawain snorted and Galahad laughed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lancelot snapped. "I definitely won't try to get with the girl who tried to kill my best friend. And she's ugly at that."

"Yeah, well. You still cannot cripple her; you don't do that to women." Galahad said wisely.

"And what would you know about women?" Lancelot asked, raising an eyebrow.

Galahad's cheeks turned pink and he didn't respond. Lancelot laughed.

"Shut up, Lancelot let him be." Gawain said, shoving Lancelot into a stone pillar.

"What's wrong with you then?" Lancelot asked in astonishment.

"Well firstly, Arthur nearly died yesterday, I don't think that is such a laughing matter, and secondly-"he broke off.

"What secondly?" Lancelot asked, but Gawain didn't respond.

"Oh, _now _I see!" he yelled suddenly. "You're angry, because I was the one who got the girl last night, aren't you?"

"Rubbish." Gawain mumbled, but even Galahad knew Lancelot was right.

"Do you guys ever look at women as…well, human beings with feelings?" he asked.

Gawain and Lancelot stared at him; Gawain walked straight into a wall.

"Galahad," Lancelot said, his expression serious, as he put an arm around the younger man's shoulders, who looked at him in alarm. "Sometimes, I do wonder if … you're not in fact a woman."

Gawain burst out laughing, Lancelot grinned and Galahad, glaring at both men punched Lancelot in the stomach. Lancelot laughed anyway as he rubbed his stomach.

"Sorry, my dear friend," he said "I just couldn't resist. Anyway, you should say that kind of stuff to girls, they'll be running after you in no time, trust me."

Galahad looked at him suspiciously.

"He's right, mate," Gawain piped up. "Girls love that kind of mushy stuff. You'll have more beauties lying at your feet than you know what to do with."

Galahad didn't answer, but Lancelot could see him thinking hard all the way along the corridor.

**I know it was very short, the shortest chapter so far, and not the best, but I needed a filling chapter… Next one will hopefully be up soon! And please review people! I always love reading your suggestions and guesses about who is going to get together:P**


	6. Chapter 6

**And another Chapter! On the same day! Well, I have a lot to make up****…Ugh, at the pace I'm going, I'll have to write 40 Chapters…**

„Which one?"

„The one at the back."

"The dark one?"

"No! What are you, blind?"

"Which one then?"

"The blonde one! She's holding a mug."

"Oh! _Now _I see her."

"About time."

"I don't know. Blonde is so … boring."

"What?"

"Well, it is. Blonde girls all look the same."

"And dark haired ones don't?"

"No."

"That doesn't make any sense, Galahad."

"Well, I still think so."

"Suit yourself."

"Why do you always go after the blondes?"

"Don't know. They look … easier."

"_Easier_?"

"No, not like that. They look like they're easy to talk to; you don't have to put any effort into it. Dark ones… you always think they're mischievous and have something to hide."

"You read _that _much into a girl's hair colour?"

"Sure."

"Do you not have anything better to do, Lancelot?"

"Not really."

Galahad stared at his friend in disbelief, and then shook his head.

"Hey, to each his own!" Lancelot said defensively.

"I didn't say anything!" Galahad answered, holding his hands up.

"But you were _thinking_ it," Lancelot said.

"True," Galahad shrugged. "I think your way with women is … well, cheap."

"Cheap?" Lancelot gasped. "Excuse me, _Casanova_! The last time I checked _I _was the one, who all the girls adored, not _you_!"

"Now you sound like a girl," Galahad remarked dryly. Lancelot was lost for words.

"When did you develop such a tongue?" he asked finally, studying his friend closely.

"Since Vanora's sister started making pretty eyes at him," Gawain said, as he sat down beside them, a mug of ale in his hand.

"Oh really?" Lancelot said, raising an eyebrow, trying not to snigger at Galahad's red face.

"She's not … making pretty eyes at me," He mumbled, looking at the table.

"Oh yes, she is. You should have seen the way she looks at our Galahad," Gawain said to Lancelot. "You'd get the impression she thinks he's some kind of god."

"Shut up!" Galahad said agitated, as Gawain imitated the look and he and Lancelot burst out laughing.

"Oh, come on," Lancelot said, patting his friend on the back. "The sooner we get it over with the better. Then the teasing will be out of the way and you won't have to endure our torments any longer." Galahad threw him a death glare and opened his mouth to retort, when-

"Hello, boys. Any of you want something else to drink?"

It was Vanora's sister and she was looking at Galahad with a gaze of awe.

Lancelot to admit she was rather pretty. Like Vanora she had long red curls, pale skin, but piercing green eyes. Gawain nudged Lancelot under the table and they had to bite their lips to keep from laughing. Galahad's ears had turned bright red.

"Why, thank you, my Lady." Lancelot said, giving her a smile that made most women's knees give out. But Vanora's sister just threw him a quick glance, before turning back to Galahad.

"Yes, um… well, I…I want… umh. One…I mean.." Galahad stammered.

"We'll both have another ale." Lancelot interrupted quickly before his friend could do even more damage. The girl nodded and left. Lancelot and Gawain looked at Galahad, who had the most miserable expression on his face, his ears still bright red.

"Have you forgotten how to talk?" Gawain asked.

"If you behave like that in front of her, you'll never get her into-"Lancelot began.

"I don't _want_ to get her into bed!" Galahad hissed, glaring at Lancelot.

"Er, what now?" Gawain asked and they both looked at him in astonishment.

"I don't want to just …" Galahad broke off, his ears turning red again.

"You actually… well, _like_ her?" Gawain asked. Galahad didn't answer.

"Okay, then," Lancelot said, fighting the urge to tease his friend. "You don't want to get her into bed. Well, not only, anyway. That doesn't make any difference; you'll still going to have to talk to her. Even more so in your case."

"True," agreed Gawain, taking a huge gulp out of his mug.

"I know that," Galahad said through gritted teeth.

"Well, if you know that, why don't you _do_ it?" Lancelot asked.

"I… I just freeze up every single time she's around," Galahad said miserably.

"No kidding," Gawain muttered. Lancelot kicked him under the table.

"You'll have to get over that shyness, mate," he said to Galahad. "And if you pass each other in the street and you really cannot find any words, just smile at her, that'll do the trick. But one of these days you will be engaged in some sort of conversation and then you should actually say something half intelligent and not just stutter about. Ask her how she is, how her family is, how she likes her job, just…get her to talk about herself and you won't even have to say that much. But act very interested."

"And try to be very sensitive, always inquire after her parents' health," Gawain piped up.

"Exactly." Lancelot nodded. "And when she tells you about something sad in her life, put an arm around her shoulder and comfort her."

"Very true. That works every single time," Gawain said, looking lost in thoughts.

"And just tell yourself, that you're actually talking to a man, and then it'll be easier."

"A man?" Gawain snorted.

"I bet that'll get him to loosen up." Lancelot said shrugging.

"How on earth is talking to a man with long hair and breasts easier?"

"He does it all the time, seeing as you have both." Lancelot answered and Galahad laughed.

"Okay, Galahad. Go over there," he pointed at the bar. "get our drinks and just start chatting away; it's easy as hell." He assured.

Galahad nodded. He took a deep breath, got up and walked to where the girl was filling mugs.

"Aw, who would have thought?" Lancelot said, looking at Galahad, who was wringing his hands nervously. "Our little Galahad, all grown up and in love."

"Time flies by so quickly." Gawain agreed.

"I have to admit," Lancelot sighed. "I can't even tease him for it."

"Me neither," Gawain admitted. "It just… warms my heart to see it."

Lancelot looked at his friend in disbelief. Gawain grinned and winked at him.

"How's Arthur?" Gawain asked, stretching his legs under the table.

"He's alright. They took the bandage off this morning, everything healed up nicely, and just some bruises are left." Lancelot answered, feeling a surge of guilt rush through him.

"That's good," Gawain said. "What about the girl then?"

"She still won't stop fighting everyone who gets near her," Lancelot said in annoyance.

"One of the stable boys went in there to give her some food; she knocked three of his teeth out. I think we should just cut off her head, for all of our sake."

"I don't think even _you_ would be capable of killing a girl." Gawain said.

"There was a time when I would have agreed with that statement. But ever since she attacked Arthur…well, let's just say, I'm no friend of morals anymore."

"Come off it," Gawain muttered. "Does it really surprise you that she wants to escape from her enemies, who keep her as a prisoner? Enemies, who killed nearly her whole tribe and imprisoned the rest? And no wonder she doesn't want to let anyone get too near, either. She's a woman, no matter how ugly. And war turns even the respectable man into a beast. I don't think looking out for yourself is such a huge crime."

"What's the matter with you then?" Lancelot asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend. "Since when did you get so… understanding? And why on earth about that Saxon witch?"

"Why not?" Gawain answered, shrugging.

"Well, because she's totally insane!"

"So are you." Gawain grunted and rolled his eyes at his friend.

"Do you like her?" Lancelot asked, narrowing his eyes.

"What?" Gawain spluttered, staring at his friend. "Where on earth did you get that idea?"

"Well you're behaving very oddly," Lancelot said feeling rather irritated.

"Would you calm down?" Gawain said, looking rather annoyed.

"Right." Lancelot said, looking around the pub.

"How's Galahad doing?" Gawain asked and turned around to look at him.

"Alright, I guess." Lancelot said. Galahad was standing in front of the girl, two mugs of ale in his hands, but obviously not with the intention of returning to their table. The girl was talking animatedly and he was looking at her in a kind of love struck way.

"My god, would you look at him?" Lancelot said, laughing. "How could anyone have such a stupid expression on their face?"

"Oh, let him be." Gawain said. "And who knows? Maybe you'll look at someone that way…not any time soon, but maybe in ten years or so."

"No way," Lancelot said distastefully. "You will _never_ see me like _that_."

"We'll see," Gawain said brightly.

"Excuse me, sir," said a voice behind Lancelot. It was the injured stable boy.

"Yes?" Lancelot asked.

"Well, that girl," the boy said, showing a large gap, where teeth should have been. "None of us wants to go down there no more. She's a witch, that one is."

"I quite agree," said Lancelot. "Well, send someone else then. A maid or someone."

"No one wants to go down there," said the boy shaking his head. "And Arthur wants me to tell you that because you rescued her, it would be your job, sir."

"What?" Lancelot asked. "Oh, that bastard," he grunted. "Alright, alright," he said to the boy. "I'll do it." The boy nodded and turned around to leave.

"Wait!" Lancelot called. "What exactly am I supposed to do down there?"

"Give her a bath," Gawain sniggered and received a kick from Lancelot.

"Some food and water are waiting in the kitchens." The boy answered and left.

"I really don't fancy doing that," Lancelot sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Why don't you do it? You understand her so well, maybe the two of you could become friends and then… maybe something more than that." He waggled his eyebrows and Gawain shoved him off the bank.

"Just do it, would you?" he said as Lancelot got up.

"Right, I'll be back in a bit," he said and he made his way through the pub and out of the door.

"Why in God's name did I have to get involved with this?" Lancelot muttered to himself, as he walked down the stone corridor, a wooden plate with bread and meat in one hand, and a jug of water in the other.

He stopped in front of the thick wooden door that led to the cellar and, with some difficulty, managed to unlock the door without having to set the plate down first. He slowly pushed the door open to see inside. It wasn't pitch-black as it used to be. A single candle was burning in one of the cellar corners at the bottom of the stone steps. The girl was sitting next to it, her head on her knees; she didn't look up as he entered.

He closed the door behind him and walked down the stairs, never taking his eyes off the girl, just in case she was planning to attack him. He sat down in front of her and put the plate and the water down. She looked up at the food and then at him.

"You have to eat something," he said to her and pointed towards the food.

The girl continued to look at him. Lancelot had the feeling her dark eyes were trying to force their way into his skull and he looked down at the floor. Then he saw that her hands and feet were chained together, which made it impossible for her to move.

"Great," he muttered. Now he would have to feed her. Someone was definitely out to get him.

He broke off a piece of bread and held it up to her face. For a second longer she looked at him, then she leaned forward and opened her mouth, grasping the bread with her teeth. She chewed slowly, which amazed Lancelot, seeing as she was only skin and bones. He continued to feed her the bread and the meat, until the plate was empty.

Then he took the water jug in one hand and placed the other one on the back of the girl's neck. She jerked back, scrambling away as far as she could go into the corner, looking frightened.

"I won't hurt you," Lancelot said calmly. "But you have to drink something."

The girl didn't answer or move, she just looked at him. He slipped forwards on his knees. He raised the jar of water to show her what he meant. He slowly reached out and placed his hand on the back of her neck again. He could feel every muscle tighten in her body under his fingers, but she didn't move away. He placed the jug against her lips and slowly tipped it over. She drank to quickly. Coughing and spluttering she jerked back. Lancelot put the water down and waited until her coughs had subsided. The water was running down her chin and her throat and she tried to wipe it away, but couldn't reach. Lancelot slowly placed the back of his hand on her chin and brushed the water away; her skin was cold as ice. He didn't dare go as far as her throat; she would kick him for sure.

"Are you cold?" he asked her. The girl didn't respond, she just continued to look at him.

Lancelot sighed in frustration; he wasn't known to be having a lot of patience.

"Can you even understand what I'm saying?" he asked her slowly. She didn't respond.

"I think you understand me very well, you just don't want to admit it." He added, but still, she didn't say anything.

Lancelot got to his feet, picked up the plate and the water jug and made his way up the stairs.

"We've got to give you a name," he said as he opened the door.

Then he heard a noise from down below. He turned around and looked at the girl.

"Did you say something?" he asked in surprise.

"Aethelinda," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Is… is that your name?" he asked her. She nodded slightly.

"Alright then." Lancelot said and left the room, making sure he locked the door behind him.

**Whohooooo! She FINALLY said something! And we know her name! Yay! lol**

**REVIEW people, REVIEW!!!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, next chapter. I hope I'll be able to update again soon, I can't make any guarantees though, because school is starting again tomorrow….Enjoy! There's a change in events!**

"I see you're still alive," Gawain said dryly, as Lancelot returned to the pub.

"Alive and dashing," Lancelot answered and he winked at his friend who snorted in disgust.

"No complications with the Saxon witch, then?" Bors grunted, who had joined the table during Lancelot's absence.

"Not really. She nearly drowned her self in the water mug, but apart from that, everything went fine," Lancelot stated, sitting down on the bench.

"Luck you," Bors said. "I just saw the stable boy. She doesn't look like the type that'll knock your teeth out."

"She looks like the type who collect the teeth and wear them around her neck like a trophy," Gawain murmured and the others laughed.

"Well, it's not like he was that handsome when the teeth were still in place. His appearance hasn't suffered much," Lancelot said. Gawain looked at him in mild disgust.

"Lancelot, you are an arse," he said and Bors grunted in agreement.

"Why? It's not like I'm lying or anything," Lancelot said shrugging.

"That's beside the point," Gawain shook his head.

"Really? What is the point then?"

"The point is, that you don't have any respect for other human beings but yourself! If she had knocked your front teeth out, your life would have been over."

"That's because I look great," Lancelot said. Bors rolled his eyes.

"God, you're insufferable!" Gawain exclaimed, glaring at his friend.

Lancelot grinned broadly.

"And wrong," Bors added. They both turned to look at him.

"What do you mean by wrong?" Lancelot asked, a certain edge to his voice.

"You're not _that_ good looking," Bors said.

"Oh really?" Lancelot asked, trying to control his voice.

"Looks like you hit a nerve there," Gawain said, grinning at Lancelot's reaction.

"I seem to be handsomer than you two," Lancelot growled.

"Yeah, why do you think that?" Gawain asked amused.

"Out of the three of us, who is it, that women find the handsomest?"

"That depends," Gawain said, still smiling.

"It depends?"

"Yes. It depends on the taste of the woman."

"No, it doesn't!"

"Sure it does!"

"Are you actually telling me, that there are women who would prefer a grey, partly shaven bear and a guy with girly hair to me?"

Gawain's expression turned sour and Lancelot grinned triumphantly.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" he asked. Gawain didn't answer.

"Anyway, I seem to appeal even to Saxon women."

"How did you get that idea?" Bors wanted to know.

"The insane girl in the cellar told me her name. That means she finds me more comforting than that stable boy, doesn't it?" Lancelot asked.

"Or maybe she took pity on you," Gawain said and Bors snorted. Lancelot ignored it.

"What's her name then?" Bors asked after a while.

"Aethelinda," Lancelot answered.

"Aethelinda. That's a nice name. Did she say what it means?" Bors asked.

Lancelot shrugged. "No, she didn't and I didn't ask. Who cares?"

"You're so sensitive," Gawain said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What should I care what her name means?"

"Oh, forget it."

"No! No, I won't forget it! Because you don't know why I should care either, do you?"

"Shut up, Lancelot!"

"Oh no, I definitely will not now! Give me a reason why I should care!"

"Because you love her."

"Haha, very funny."

"I thought so. Alright, because if you had asked what her name meant you could have engaged her in a conversation and maybe she would have learnt to trust you and we could let her out of that disgusting cellar."

Lancelot didn't answer and Gawain looked triumphant.

"Well, she's not going anywhere, I can ask her later," he said.

"That you can," Gawain agreed.

Bors yawned and slumped onto the table.

"You alright?" Lancelot asked, frowning.

"Yeah," it came muffled from between Bors' arms. "Just tired."

"That's understandable," Gawain said, looking out of the window. It was pitch black outside.

"Where's Vanora by the way?"

Bors groaned. "The baby wouldn't stop crying. It gave me a headache and I got impatient. I started yelling and she started yelling about not scaring the baby and then we yelled some more and then we shouted and then she kicked me out. Said I should come back when I had my temper under control."

Gawain and Lancelot looked at each other and they both grinned.

"I hope the baby stopped crying, I just want to sleep," Bors mumbled.

"Well, then, up you get," Lancelot said and stood up, pulling his friend's arm.

Bors grumbled reluctantly, but got up and followed Lancelot out of the pub.

Lancelot was dreaming.

He was coming home from the pub. His wife was waiting at home, but it wasn't a woman, instead he was married to a green snake with huge dark eyes. And the snake started shouting at him: "What does my name mean?" And he didn't know the answer and a baby started crying and the snake was still shouting, its eyes gleaming like fire.

And then someone else screamed. It sounded far away. And then the screaming got louder, more clearer…

Lancelot jerked up, panting. The screams were coming from outside. He jumped out of his bed and wrenched the door open.

The scene before him made the blood freeze in his veins. The stables, constructed of wood, had caught fire and blazing flames were sending sparks flying high into the air. Some men were trying to extinguish the fire, throwing buckets of water into the flames.

"Lancelot!" someone yelled.

Lancelot turned and saw Gawain running toward him, his face smudged with soot.

"What happened?" Lancelot asked.

"Some stupid stable boys were wrestling in one of the stables. One of them was carrying a torch, he got punched, the torch fell onto the hay and now this!" Gawain yelled angrily.

"How far has the fire spread?" Lancelot asked, quickly pulling on a shirt.

"Far. It reached the main house a few minutes ago."

"Did anyone get hurt?"

"No. They all managed to get out in time. Arthur was lucky, he just got out before half the building crashed." Lancelot swore under his breath.

"Where are the others?" he asked.

"Arthur is trying to help them put the fire out at the main house, Bors is getting all his children to safety and Galahad should be around here somewhere."

"Alright. Let's get to work," Lancelot mumbled and they ran over to the burning stables, joining the men, who were still trying to fight the flames.

"We need more water," Lancelot gasped, flinging bucket after bucket of water into the heat.

"Clever observation," Gawain growled, his face shining in the heat.

"That balcony will come off any minute," one of the men said.

Lancelot and Gawain looked to where he was pointing. One of the burning sheds had a wooden balcony attached to its side, which was already burning brightly.

"Tell the men to stand back before they get hurt," Lancelot told the man, who nodded.

"I can't believe this," Gawain hissed through gritted teeth.

"What?"

"Everything is gone. Everything was destroyed. When I get my hands on those boys, I'll kill them with my bare hands."

Lancelot wasn't entirely sure he was joking.

"Lancelot!"

He turned around and saw Galahad running towards them. At that moment, the wood of the balcony gave out.

"Galahad!" Lancelot yelled, but Galahad didn't react quickly enough.

The burning balcony broke off the side of the shed and fell down, burying Galahad beneath it.

"No!" Lancelot yelled. He threw away his bucket and stormed over. He clawed at the burning wood, not caring about the sharp pain in his fingers. Gawain joined him, kicking back the wood.

"Galahad!" he yelled, as Galahad's face came into view.

Galahad's face was a mask of pain. No part of him seemed to have caught on fire, but his right arm was lying next to him at an odd angle.

"Are you alright?" Gawain shouted, heaving a particularly large piece of wood off his friend.

Galahad mumbled something incoherent, his face ashen.

Lancelot bent down to help his friend sit up, but as soon as he touched Galahad's arm, he shouted.

"What? What did I do?" Lancelot yelled in alarm.

"My…arm," Galahad gasped, his face visibly green in the fire light. Gawain crouched down and poked Galahad's arm. Galahad yelled in pain.

"Are you insane?" he roared, glaring at Gawain.

"Definitely broken, I'd say," Gawain said, ignoring his friend's insults.

"Thank God," Lancelot breathed, relief washing over him.

Galahad looked at him in utter disbelief.

"Thank God?" he asked, his voice loud. "This is nothing to be thankful for! I won't be able to use my arm!" he shouted.

"At least you're alive," Gawain interfered. Galahad fell silent, but continued to look disgruntled.

"Shouldn't we move you?" Lancelot asked, stretching his arms out to Galahad.

"If you touch me," Galahad said. "I will bite your fingers off."

"Fine. Stay on the ground," Lancelot said, slightly offended.

At that point, they heard a loud crash coming from behind the stables and someone screamed.

"I guess the main house came down completely," Gawain muttered, frowning.

"Wait," Lancelot said suddenly. Gawain looked at him in surprise.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Before the house collapsed, did anyone go down to the cellar and get the Saxon girl?"

Gawain looked at him in confusion for another second, then it seemed to dawn on him.

"Damn," he muttered. "I forgot about her entirely."

"I'll get her," Lancelot said and got to his feet.

"Are you mad?" Gawain asked. "You don't even know if she's still alive! And it's far too dangerous to go in there!"

"Do you want me to leave her down there and die?" Lancelot asked.

"Better she than you, wouldn't you say?" Gawain said.

"Probably," Lancelot muttered and stormed off.

The right part of the house had collapsed. Broken pieces of wood and stone were lying scattered on the ground, flames still eating at it. The other part of the building was burning, the flames reaching to the heavens.

Concentrating very hard on not thinking too long about it, Lancelot crashed through the burning door, which gave way immediately. The heat in the corridor was almost unbearable, making it hard to breathe.

Holding the cloth of his shirt against his face, Lancelot raced through the stone corridor towards the cellar door.

Luckily the key was still in place. As he reached out to unlock the door, the heat of the metal burnt his skin. Ignoring the stabbing pain and gritting his teeth, he wrenched the door open and raced inside.

The heat and smoke of the fire seemed to have leaked through the cracks in the door; the cellar too was hot. Running down the stone steps he looked around frantically.

Aethelinda was sitting in one of the corners, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, her face white, her eyes filled with fear. He ran over to her and took hold of her arms, yanking her up.

"A fire broke out," he told her, pulling her up the stairs. "It destroyed most of the house. But it's alright, you're safe now."

They ran through the corridor, Aethelinda stumbling behind him, her feet still tied together. Without another word, Lancelot turned around and swept her into his arms.

The heat in the corridor had increased, his eyes were streaming, his breathing strained.

As he saw the door, he quickened his pace, nearly flying through the gap in wall.

Gulping down as much fresh air as he could, he continued walking, making his way to Galahad and Gawain.

As Lancelot came nearer, Gawain looked up. But he wore a worried expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" Lancelot asked, setting the girl down next to him.

"It's Galahad," Gawain muttered. "No matter what we try, we cannot get him up. The arm causes him too much pain."

Lancelot looked down. Galahad's face was still green and he had a grimace of pain on his face.

Aethelinda moved next to Lancelot. He looked at her and saw that she had crouched down beside Galahad, inspecting his arm. Galahad tried to inch away from her, but groaned in pain.

"Don't move," Aethelinda said reproachfully.

"She talks?" Gawain asked Lancelot, as they watched the scene before them.

Then, Aethelinda reached out, placing one hand on Galahad's injured shoulder and one on his chest.

"This is going to hurt," she said calmly. Gawain and Lancelot shot forward to yank her back, but she was too quick. There was a loud crack and Galahad screamed in agony.

"What did you do?" Gawain shouted as he yanked the girl back by her arm.

Lancelot kneeled down beside Galahad, whose breath was flat and quick.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Slowly, he reached out and nudged Galahad's arm.

"Does that hurt?"

"Only a bit," Galahad said, a bit of colour returning to his cheeks.

"What did you do?" Lancelot asked, looking up at Aethelinda, who was glaring at Gawain.

"His shoulder was dislocated," she said. "I had to set it back."

"Thank you," Galahad said weakly, closing his eyes.

Aethelinda didn't respond. Gawain was still holding onto her arm and her whole body was tense.

"Let's get him inside," Lancelot said.

"We don't have an inside," Gawain said bitterly. Lancelot rolled his eyes at him.

"Fine. Let's get you to Lancelot's room. That didn't burn down. Lucky bugger."

Lancelot turned to Aethelinda again.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

She looked up at him and he suddenly realized something, he hadn't before.

He had always thought her to be average, even ugly. Now he noticed, that her lips were full, her eyelashes were so long, they nearly touched her cheeks when she looked down; her pale skin was like marble.

"I am. Thank you," she said. He snapped out of his trance.

"Good," he said and smiled at her. She smiled back hesitantly. Gawain cleared his throat.

"If you two are quite finished," he said, raising an eyebrow at Lancelot, who rolled his eyes again.

Lancelot bent down and he and Gawain picked Galahad up carefully, trying not to move his arm too much.

"Unbelievable," Gawain muttered.

"What?" Lancelot asked.

"Even in a situation as serious as this, you still find the time to charm women. You really are gifted."

"But you always knew that."

"Yeah, I always knew that."

**Not one of ****the best chapters, but hey. Finally, Lancelot notices Aethelinda, thank God for that…**


	8. Chapter 8

**Alright, here's the next Chapter! The story's not ready for serious fluff yet, but this one's definitely a bit more emotional…Enjoy!**

"If I have to lift one more board of wood I'll jump off this building, as soon as it's finished," Gawain groaned, rubbing his soar arms.

"Stop complaining, you girl," Lancelot muttered, silently agreeing with his friend's statement.

The fire had destroyed nearly all the wooden buildings and seeing as they were all eager to sleep under a roof again, the volunteers for the repairs popped up all over and after just three weeks nearly all the buildings had been replaced.

"This is so unpleasant," Gawain growled, helping Lancelot lift a particular heavy board of wood.

"Hear, hear," Lancelot mumbled. He was sore and tired and all he wanted to do was sleep.

"Why in God's name did we volunteer for this?" Gawain asked.

"Because I won't stand another night hearing you snore," Lancelot answered.

"That sounds reasonable," Gawain said, shrugging.

"It is," Lancelot said. "I think we should take a break."

"I'll drink to that!" Gawain exclaimed.

Lancelot grinned and stretched. All the muscles in his back were aching so much, he found it hard to breathe. Stretching his tired arms, he looked around.

"Where's Galahad?" he asked. Gawain snorted and made a disgusted face.

"That bastard. He's sitting outside the pub in the sun, whining about his arm, even though I bet it's perfectly fine. And if he's not whining he's making pretty eyes at Vanora's sister. You should see the stupid expression on his face. It makes me gag."

"I think I'll pass," Lancelot said, screwing up his nose.

"So where's _your_ wife?" Gawain asked, as they walked down the street.

"Er, what now?" Lancelot asked, looking at his friend in confusion.

"The Saxon girl," Gawain said and laughed, as Lancelot looked at him dumbfounded.

"What are you talking about?" Lancelot asked.

"Oh, come on," Gawain snorted. "The last few weeks you haven't been chatting up a single woman. Not one! I don't think that has ever happened before! And, I hope you don't mind me saying, you are not the most subtle person; I did notice how you look at her."

"You are joking, aren't you?" Lancelot said. "The reason I haven't been making any moves is because we have other things to do right now; even I know where to draw the line."

Gawain snorted and Lancelot decided to ignore it.

"But," he began, "speaking of wife. I think Vanora's sister is going to pop the question soon."

"You're probably right about that one," Gawain agreed. "Do you think a veil would suit Galahad?"

"I think he'd look splendid! It would compliment his eyes."

Gawain and Lancelot were both roaring with laughter, when they arrived at the main house, where there were even more people busy with rebuilding the walls.

"This looks good," Gawain said, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye.

"I agree," Lancelot said, looking at the almost finished building in front of him.

"Hey, you two!"

They both turned and saw Galahad walking toward them, his arm in a bandage, which was slung around his neck.

"Been sleeping in the sun again, while everyone else is working?" Gawain asked.

"I'm injured," Galahad said dramatically. "I am incapable of doing this kind of work."

"Sure," Lancelot said sarcastically and he rolled his eyes at Gawain.

"I am," Galahad pointed out. "And for your information, I haven't been sleeping. I've been here for almost two hours."

"Doing what? Using up air?" Lancelot asked and Gawain grinned.

"Something like that, yes," Galahad said dryly. "Oh, that reminds me, they need someone to help set in the doors. Go help, would you?" he added, looking at Lancelot.

"I will kill you," Lancelot responded, while Gawain started laughing.

"First, go set in the door," Galahad said cheerfully and waved at Lancelot, who growled and made his way over to the huge entrance.

"I heard you needed some help with the doors." He said to one of the men.

"True," he answered, nodding. "We already set in the main doors, but some of the men had to go over to work on the stables, so…" he pointed to a wooden door, leaning against the building.

"Take that, carry it inside and shout at someone so he'll help you set it in," the man said and walked away.

"Thank you, too," Lancelot grumbled. Heaving on of the doors onto his back, he staggered through the entrance gasping under the weight. When he reached the first room without a door, he let the heavy piece if wood, fall to the floor.

"Anyone here?" he bellowed, his voice echoing around the hall. No one answered.

"Great," he muttered, taking a deep breath. He bent down and took hold of the door again.

Then he heard quick footsteps hurrying along the corridor.

He turned around. Aethelinda was walking down the corridor, an identical door on her back. She looked like she wasn't tired in the least. When she saw Lancelot she stopped.

"Do you need help with that door?" she asked, her eyes on the sight in front of her.

"No," Lancelot said, more sharply than he'd meant to.

But she didn't look like she was offended by his tone. She set her door down and walked over to him, taking hold of the door as well. With one quick movement, she lifted it up, almost tearing it out of Lancelot's hands. They carried it over to the doorway and after some time and some snapping at each other, they finally managed to set in the door.

"Thanks," Lancelot said and looked at her.

She had changed over the past few weeks. The fear and hatred had vanished almost completely. She had started talking after resetting Galahad's arm and Lancelot had found out that despite being a Saxon, she was very clever. Only sometimes, when someone surprised her or startled her, she turned back into the frightened, aggressive person she had been in the beginning. But not only her attitude had changed. Lancelot boldly let his eyes wander over her. Three weeks of decent food had finally changed her skeleton like appearance, although she was still too skinny. Working out in the sun all day had given her a slight tan and her dark hair had grown slightly lighter. Lancelot studied her for another moment. She didn't look too bad, really. And three weeks without some girl he could entrance with his charm was way too long. Now the time had come to change that.

"Are you alright?" she asked, looking at him with a rather bewildered expression.

"Er, sure," Lancelot said and he gave her his famous knee-melting grin.

She didn't look like she was melting though. She was still eyeing him suspiciously.

"So, should we go get some more doors, then?" Lancelot asked smoothly.

"I haven't set mine in yet," Aethelinda said, pointing at the door on the floor.

"Well, how about we carry in all the doors first and then put them in. Otherwise we'll have to run outside every three seconds," he suggested, covering his mistake.

"Alright," she said shrugging, turned around and started walking. Lancelot took three quick steps, and then he was walking beside her.

"So, how are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine. Why?" she asked.

_She really isn't making this any easier._

"Just…wondering how you're adapting," he said.

"Just fine," she replied.

"Don't I get more information?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you didn't go much into detail. Anything else besides 'fine'?"

"Not really, no," she said.

_Jesus Christ? Have I lost my spark already? Three weeks and I'm a toothless beggar?_

A maid walked past them down the corridor. Lancelot caught her eye and he grinned crookedly at her. She immediately flushed bright red and he could feel her turn and stare after him.

_Nope. Definitely still have the magic. Must be the girl._

They walked through the entrance. Gawain and Galahad were sitting on the stone steps next to the doors, bickering.

"…I do not have girly hair!" Gawain bellowed, his face screwed up angrily.

"Mate," Lancelot said as they joined them. "Denying your feminine side just makes you seem girlier." Aethelinda turned away, so Gawain wouldn't see her smile and Galahad fell of the stairs, guffawing. Gawain kicked him and Galahad stopped laughing.

"What are you doing anyway?" Lancelot asked. "Why aren't you helping?"

"For God's sake!" Gawain groaned. "We've been at this for nearly 12 hours, I needed a break."

"Yeah, I'm bloody exhausted," Galahad said, grinning. Aethelinda laughed as he winked at her.

Lancelot glared at Galahad, but Galahad just looked confused.

"That look means: Back off the woman, mate or I'll knock your teeth out," Gawain murmured into Galahad's ear. Galahad rolled his eyes.

Lancelot continued to look unfriendly at him and Galahad finally raised his arms in defeat. Lancelot grinned, marvelling at his success and he put his arm around Aethelinda's shoulders. He felt her muscles tense immediately under his touch, but he didn't remove his arm.

"Me and Aethelinda are setting in the doors. You should see it, it's a work of art," he said.

"It's Aethelinda and me," Galahad said.

"One more word and _I'll_ knock out your teeth," Gawain growled.

"So, how long do you think this will take?" Lancelot asked, gesturing to the buildings.

He let his hand travel lazily down Aethelinda's back; her muscles were still tense.

"Not sure," Gawain said. "Another week if we're lucky."

"We'd have to be really lucky," Galahad said.

"Do you always have to be so pessimistic?" Gawain asked irritated.

"I'm not being pessimistic, I'm being realistic!"

"You're being a total pain!"

"I'm not!"

"You are!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Yes, you are!"

"Shut it, will you?" Lancelot asked. Gawain and Galahad continue to glare at each other, but they fell silent.

"Are the stables done yet?" Lancelot asked.

"No idea," Gawain shrugged. "I guess they still need some time to…"

But Lancelot wasn't listening. In fact, he didn't care about the stables at all. He just wanted his friends to be engaged, so they would pay attention to what he was doing.

His hand was travelling lower and lower down Aethelinda's back. And lower….and lower…

SMACK!

Lancelot stumbled back, his hands flying instinctively to his nose, which was feeling like a hot ball of pain had just exploded in it.

Galahad stopped talking and looked at him in utter surprise.

"Jesus!" Lancelot roared, holding his nose, his vision blurred. "What the- what was _that_?"

"Looks like you got punched there, mate," Gawain said lazily, grinning widely.

"Oh, you _think_?" Lancelot bellowed, glaring at his friend. Then he looked at Aethelinda.

She looked very composed and regarded him with a cool look, her arms in front of her chest.

"Don't try to make a pass at me," she said. "I can do far worse than that."

Lancelot stared at her.

"You what?" Galahad asked, looking at Lancelot dumbfounded.

"Shut up," Gawain said, shoving Galahad off the stairs.

Aethelinda threw one last evil look at Lancelot, then she turned on her heel and walked away.

"I will never forget this day," Gawain said.

"Why not?" Galahad asked.

"Because this is the day, our famous charmer Lancelot got punched in the face for making a pass at a woman. A punch thrown not by her husband, but by _the woman_. This day will go down in history, my friend. Trust me."

**Okay, not a very eventful chapter. It was originally supposed to be longer, but I have no time at all and I thought I'd rather post two chapters, than make you wait for a long one another month! I hope I'll have the next one up shortly! Please review! If I don't get reviews, I don't see any point in continuing to write this story…**


	9. Chapter 9

**I don't have any school tomorrow, so I decided to pull an all-nighter and write another Chapter, so you guys wouldn't have to wait too long…Enjoooy!**

Lancelot was _not_ amused.

No, that wasn't true. He wasn't not amused. He was angry.

No, that wasn't the truth either. He was utterly pissed.

He had been hit by a woman; a Saxon woman at that! If word got out, his reputation would be destroyed, all the men would laugh at him, the women wouldn't be interested in him anymore, his life would be over. Gawain had called him a drama queen, but that didn't mean anything. Gawain practically was a woman, with _that_ hair.

Putting Gawain's unquestionable femininity aside, maybe there was some truth in his words. Maybe he was overreacting. There was one way to find out.

"Right," Lancelot said, as he got to his feet. "Off to bag me a woman."

Walking through the door of his room, thanking the stars for the thousandth time, that this part of the building hadn't burnt down, he looked around.

The best way to find out if he was still _It_, was to try to charm a woman. Like _that_ was a difficult job. But he would have to find a new target. There was no way on earth he was going to try to get on Aethelinda's good side again. No, sir!

It was already dark outside and he could feel the winter coming. Lancelot rubbed his arms as he walked across the empty street towards the pub.

He pushed the door open and a wave of warmth and noise washed over him. He entered, closed the door behind him and looked around. The pub was packed with people. All the farmers from around the fort had gathered here, having helped them rebuild everything, and all the tables were full; some people were even standing, leaning against the wall.

His eyes scanned the whole pub. It looked like he wouldn't have any luck tonight, there really wasn't an empty table in the entire…

His eyes rested on the small table at the far end of the pub, next to the fire. It was empty, but for one person. The last person Lancelot wanted to spend time with…

"Great," he muttered to himself, as he saw Aethelinda sitting on the bench, staring into the fire.

Sighing he went over to Vanora, who was pouring out ale.

"Good evening, beautiful lady," he said, grinning crookedly at her.

"Don't make me gag," she answered dispassionately, without looking up.

"Having a hard day?"

"Would you look around?" she growled, filling another mug.

"Poor you. When you've finally finished here, maybe you can come over to my room and I'll help you relax," he said.

"After finishing here," Vanora said, setting down the full mug and taking up another one, "I have to go home and take care of my children."

"Shame," Lancelot said brightly and Vanora smiled at him.

"Do you think you could fill me a mug?" he asked.

"If you pay for it," she answered coolly.

"Why, I never expected I'd get away without paying."

"Good."

"Wonderful."

Vanora rolled her eyes at him, as she filled him a mug. He gave her some coins, took up the mug and carefully made his way over to the nearly empty table.

_Alright, you can totally do this. Just sit down, try not to look at her, don't speak to her and __she won't have any reason to attack._

He stopped in front of Aethelinda's table, but she didn't even notice. She was gazing into the fire, the flames reflecting off her huge dark eyes.

"Do you mind if I sit down here?" he asked. She jerked around, looking up at him.

"Oh, it's you," she said. Lancelot wasn't sure, whether she sounded angry, disappointed or bored.

"Yep, it's me. So, can I sit down?"

"Sure," she answered and he sat down opposite her.

"How's your nose?" she asked, her lips twitching slightly.

"Fine," he said stiffly, gritting his teeth. The small smile vanished from her face. She looked down at the wooden table, scratching the surface with a fingernail.

"Listen," she began, taking a deep breath. "I'm really sorry I punched you. You should not have tried to feel me up and definitely not without my consent, but I could have shouted at you, before hitting you. I guess I'm just so used to having to use violence. I didn't do right by you and I am very sorry. Do you accept my apology?" she said and looked up at him. Lancelot stared at her dumfounded. She frowned slightly.

"You don't?" she asked.

"Er, no, it's not that," Lancelot said. "I just think I've never heard you talk so much in one go, I was surprised." Aethelinda laughed quietly.

"I accept you're apology," Lancelot said. "And… I'm sorry, too. I guess I really shouldn't have been so forward, it's just something I'm used to."

"I gathered as much," Aethelinda said, smiling. "From what I've heard you didn't have any reason not to be forward. With the girls here, anyway."

"I guess that's true," Lancelot said, feeling rather awkward.

"Does that make you happy?" she asked, scrutinizing his face.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Charming all the women at this fort. Making them fall in love with you, just because you feel like it. Does that make you happy?"

Well, that's a bit of a harsh way of putting it," Lancelot answered, feeling slightly offended. "I don't make them fall in love with me. Most of them already are."

Aethelinda raised one eyebrow and looked at him in disbelief.

"I don't mean it like that," Lancelot said quickly. "As you've learned, I have a certain reputation at this fort. The women know who I am and what I'm looking for. They knew what they'll get themselves into if they choose to get involved with me. I don't hurt their feelings deliberately, if that's what you were thinking."

Aethelinda looked at him, not answering for a moment.

"I guess that makes sense," she said finally. "But there's still one thing I don't understand."

"And what's that?" Lancelot asked.

"Well, either the women here are really stupid, if they get involved with you, even if they know it'll go nowhere, or you have to be really skilled at charming. Which is it?"

Lancelot thought about this for a moment.

"If I say both, the women here will probably stab me with a hay fork," he said and she laughed. "I guess I really have the skills. Would you like to find out?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," she said, her voice harsh, her body tensing. Lancelot was taken aback. One minute, they had been having an easy conversation and the next, she was being defensive.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you," he said.

Aethelinda looked at her fingers again. Lancelot noticed they were trembling slightly, as she dug them into the wooden table. She looked like she was battling with herself, as she bit her lip and looked around nervously. Then she buried her face in her hands and Lancelot heard her sighing impatiently. Then she looked up again, her eyes staring over his right shoulder.

"It's not..." she started, her voice breaking. "You didn't…I wasn't…"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she started again, still not looking at him.

"You didn't… offend me," she said, her voice so quiet, Lancelot had to lean in. "It's, it's how you are, it's who you are, joking and flirting, I understand that. But…" she broke off again, biting down hard on her lip, her eyes growing hard.

"Where I come from, things aren't like they are here. I know you think we Saxons are brutal, emotionless killers. And we're not. We are killers, that is true. But we are also farmers, kings, husbands, wives, children, blacksmiths, friends, just like you. But the Saxons aren't one large family, we're all separate tribes. Some tribes are just like you: free and easy. And there are the tribes, that…Tribes, that have a past; a horrible past. My tribe has a horrible past. Our history is easy to remember: all our lives we have been enslaved by the ruling tribes of the Saxons. We were the scum; not worth more than objects. We were oppressed nearly all our lives. And then, because the ruling tribes needed so many slaves and workers, we were suddenly twice their number. So we decided to fight, to free ourselves from the chains they had given us. And we did. We trained, we fought, we won. And I guess in some way it was a great victory. We were free, free to choose our own way of life. But the new power was something we weren't used to, we weren't organized, fights broke out, everything was in chaos." Aethelinda trailed off, her eyes still staring past him.

"We didn't have any rules to follow, people took what they wanted, what they desired." At the last word, her gaze went hard and cold, and her fingers trembled again.

"People took what didn't belong to them. They stole food, money, they took women by force. I…" she broke off. She had such a pained expression on her face that Lancelot had to fight down the urge to take hold of her trembling hands.

"I had lost my mother and both my sisters during the fight, that gave us our freedom. My father was a cold, harsh man. My mother couldn't give him a son and when she died, he decided to blame her death and his lack of a son on me. I hated him; I wanted to kill him more than once. But in the long run I am grateful. His treatment prepared me for everything, for everyone. Nearly everyone…" she whispered, her face growing pale.

She didn't continue and Lancelot wasn't sure what to say. This gush of words was overwhelming him. He hadn't asked for her story and truth be told, it was so horrible, he almost wished she hadn't started to tell him. But he could sense her need to get it off her shoulders, and he wanted know. He wanted to know what had turned her into the frightened, angry, aggressive girl that she was.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice low, as not to scare her. She looked into his eyes for a second then averted her gaze in shame.

"Most of the women died in the battle. The men were brutes. I was one of the youngest. They took what they wanted. I was what they wanted." She said, her voice hard.

Lancelot didn't answer. He didn't know what say, how to react.

She looked up at him for another second, then she said:

"I'm not…I don't want to bore you with this story, I just… I wanted to explain, why I behave the way I do; why I react the way I do to…to the way you talk and act, to when someone startles me or someone touches me. It all reminds me of that time, I hate it, but I can't help it, it always reminds me of…of that time." Aethelinda fell silent, her eyes shining.

Lancelot swallowed. His insides were churning. Never in his whole life had he felt so sorry for another person. And at the same time so angry at someone he had never met.

"I'm sorry," Aethelinda said, when he didn't respond. "I'm tiring you. This isn't exactly what you're looking for, I apologize." She got up and started to walk away, but Lancelot reached out and took hold of her hand. He didn't grip it, just held it lightly.

"Don't be silly," he said softly, looking up at her. "You're not tiring me and there is absolutely no need for you to apologize. Now, would you please sit down?"

Aethelinda looked uncertain for a moment, but then a small smile crept onto her face and she sat down again. Lancelot didn't let go off her hand and she didn't protest.

"I'm really glad you told me your story," he said in a low voice, looking at her intently. "I truly am."

Aethelinda smiled at their interlaced fingers and then she looked up, into his eyes. Lancelot found that he couldn't look away. Her dark eyes were reflecting the fire light and it looked like the flames were dancing. And for the first time, Aethelinda seemed to let down her guard, her face was wide open and Lancelot saw a million things in her eyes. The defiance, the hate, the rage, the shame, the pride, the fear, the strength…

His heart started to beat faster and he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

_What is this? Cut it out!_

But he found he couldn't. He couldn't tare his gaze away from hers, it was like she had trapped him. And he wasn't fighting, he didn't want to fight, he just wanted to look at her, to see her, to understand her. And it was a completely new and overwhelming feeling; he didn't know what to do…

"Lancelot, my man!" someone roared and punched him on the back.

Lancelot turned and saw Gawain with a mug of ale. He set it down on the table and sat down next to Lancelot. Aethelinda smiled fleetingly at him, then she got up.

"Well, good night," she said, looking at Lancelot. Then she quickly walked away.

"Gawain, you arse!" Lancelot snapped at his friend.

"What?" Gawain asked in alarm. "It's not my fault she left, is it? What did I do?"

"You sat down, that's what you did," Lancelot growled, drinking some ale.

"Jesus, would you relax?" Gawain said, sounding irritated.

Lancelot grumbled something and they were both quiet for some time.

Then Gawain looked round the pub and screwed up his face in distaste.

"Ugh, would you look at that?" he said disgusted.

"What?" Lancelot said and turned.

"_That_," Gawain said and pointed at Galahad and Vanora's sister.

Galahad was leaning over the wooden counter and was whispering something into the pretty girl's ear. She blushed and giggled softly.

"Oh God," Lancelot groaned. "I'm going to gag."

"Join the club," Gawain said, looking greenish.

"When they get married, I'm leaving the country," Lancelot said.

"Better idea: _they_ have to leave the country," Gawain muttered.

"Excellent idea," Lancelot said brightly, raising his mug. "I'll drink to that."

"Cheers." Gawain said.

"Cheers," Lancelot repeated and drank.

"And may the day of their marriage come quickly. I won't be able to stand that for another month."

**Phew! I'm really happy with how that turned out. It's not real fluff yet, but not as funny as the other ones…But, do not fret! The fluff is not far! In fact, it will come with the next Chapter! Until then! And please please revieeeew!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Oh my god, I am SO sorry for updating this late! School is killing me, but I have holidays now, so I'll try to get as much as possible done! Here's the next one:**

"Would you look at that!"

"Please, I'm trying to eat."

"Sorry."

"No problem. So what's he doing?"

"If you turned around you could see for yourself."

"I don't want to see."

"You don't wan to see, you just want to know?"

"Exactly."

"Coward."

"I'm not!"

"Well, if you aren't, then turn around."

"Fine," Lancelot growled and turned.

Galahad and Vanora's sister were sitting in the shade of a tree, their heads together.

"That doesn't look too bad," Lancelot said.

"Just wait," Gawain said.

"I'm not going to wait for something like that, it's a waste of time."

"Fine," Gawain growled, tearing his gaze away from the couple.

Lancelot turned around as well and continued to eat.

"God, I'm bored," Gawain groaned, sighing theatrically.

"Then do something," Lancelot suggested.

"Great advice," Gawain said, rolling his eyes. "There is nothing to do! No people to rescue, no Woads to hunt, no buildings to repair…"

"You really need to get yourself a woman," Lancelot said, observing his friend.

"There aren't any here," Gawain stated.

"What are you talking about?" Lancelot snorted. "There are a lot of women here! Most of them are married, I grant you, but not all of them. How about the blonde serving girl? I remember that you were quite smitten," he suggested.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Gawain said, frowning. "What am I supposed to do with a serving girl, that'll jump into bed with you without hesitating, but is as dumb as Bors?"

"Why does it matter whether she's clever or not?" Lancelot asked.

"If I'm going to spend the rest of my life with a woman, I'd prefer it if she could speak three sentences in a row."

Lancelot choked on his food. He stared at his friend, still coughing.

"What?" Gawain asked.

"The rest of your life? What are you talking about?"

"I told you," Gawain answered. "When we're done with our so called 'duty' to Rome, I want to settle. I'm tired of jumping from bed to bed. Laugh all you like."

"I won't," Lancelot said, still staring at his friend in slight disbelief. "So…did you have anyone in mind yet?" he asked carefully.

"No, because there aren't any decent women left here, who aren't already married," Gawain grumbled.

"Who knows, maybe Vanora's has another sister," Lancelot said winking.

Gawain laughed. "Speaking of which," he said and turned around. "Ew! God, that's gross! I knew it was coming!"

"What is it?" Lancelot said curiously and turned slightly.

"Don't!" Gawain yelled and turned Lancelot's head around with a yank. "Trust me, you don't want to see it; Galahad has outdone himself in girliness. It's not a pretty sight."

"I believe you."

"You should," Gawain said, shuddering. "If you love your life."

It was a beautiful day.

The sun was shining and there didn't seem to be a single cloud on the deep blue sky. Lancelot was sitting under a tree, staring blankly ahead.

So much had happened during the last few weeks: He had freed those slaves, Galahad had gotten himself a girl, almost the entire fort had burned down, Vanora had given Bors a dead line for his proposal, he'd met a wild, infuriating dark eyed girl…

And then again… compared to what his life had used to be, it was calm, quiet. Too quiet for his taste. He wasn't like Tristan had been, restless, growing nervous when they'd lingered too long in one place, always thirsty for blood. Or at least he'd told himself that.

Now, sitting there with nothing disturbing him, he found himself growing uncomfortable. After all those years spent killing, slaughtering, fighting for a country and a cause he didn't believe in, a country he detested, how could it be that he felt like he hadn't had enough of it? Why couldn't he move on, forget about the time that had given him so much sorrow and so much grief for his lost fellow knights?

Lancelot sighed in angry frustration and ripped out some grass.

He didn't _want_ to continue fighting. He didn't want to see any more blood, see any more screaming women over the bodies of the husbands, they had killed. And yet, something in him was awakening. A rage. A rage that seemed so strong, that it scared him. There was no reason to feel rage. He didn't want to revenge anyone. All the Saxons were dead and the feeling of blinding revenge he'd felt in the beginning had faded over the years, when losing your friends had become almost natural.

Why couldn't he just be happy? Why couldn't he settle down, leave the life of a soldier behind like Arthur had done? Or Galahad or Gawain. Why couldn't he follow their example?

"I'm not sure the grass deserves the punishment you're giving it."

Lancelot jerked slightly and looked to his left. Aethelinda was walking towards him, her long dark hair flying in the wind, her eyes sparkling in the sun light.

"Er, what?" he asked, shaking his head distractedly.

"You look like you're ready to kill someone," she said, looking apprehensive.

_If she only knew…_

He grunted. She eyed him for a moment, then she asked:

"Am I disturbing you?"

"What? No! I'm not doing anything as you can see," he said startled.

"Still, I know that look," she said coming closer. "You look like you'd rather be alone and wallow in self pity or anger."

"Had a lot of experience with that, have you?" he asked, slightly amused.

"More than enough," she said and winked at him. He laughed and she smiled at him.

"Come on then," he said, patting the spot next to him. "Sit down, m'lady."

"Why thank you, sir knight," she said curtseying, before she sat down in the grass.

"So what were you thinking about?" she asked.

"I…nothing specific really," he said, shrugging.

"You're a really bad liar, Lancelot, " she said, sounding rather bemused.

He looked at her, but her expression was unreadable.

"If you continue to just swallow everything down, it will consume you eventually. And it's not that difficult to tell someone you trust what's bothering you. It's a relief, believe me," she said. Lancelot didn't answer. He looked at her for another second, then he let his gaze trail over the sky. Aethelinda sighed quietly and silence fell for some time.

"Do you ever have any regrets?" she asked suddenly.

"Regrets about what?" Lancelot asked, still looking at the sky.

"About what you do. Or what you did. About murdering people you don't even know. Murdering people who are just like us. Do you ever feel ashamed or guilty?"

"I… don't know," he said slowly, rather taken aback by the turn the conversation had taken. "I suppose I do. I mean, after 15 years the guilt gets less and less, but somehow it's still there. Why?"

He looked at Aethelinda. She was staring blankly ahead, her arms around her knees.

"I don't," she said. "I don't feel guilty. I never did. The first time I killed someone I didn't feel any regret. I was happy. Because I thought: it's either me or him. Survival of the strongest. If I don't kill him, he'll kill me. Do you…" she broke off, looking down at her feet. "Do you think that makes me a horrible person?" she asked.

Lancelot stared at her for a moment.

"No," he said slowly. Aethelinda looked at him, the corner of her mouth twitching.

"That was hesitant," she stated.

"I just never thought about it," Lancelot said. "I don't think it makes you a horrible person. You aren't born the person you are now. You grew up under horrible conditions, you had to do and be what you had to in order to stay alive. That doesn't mean you're a bad person. It just means you're human."

He looked at her and Aethelinda stared back at him.

Her hair was still moving in the wind and her cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the sun. He couldn't read the expression in her eyes; they were glittering. But he couldn't look away; he couldn't tare himself from her gaze…

"I think you might be right," she said and Lancelot snapped out of his trance.

_What in the name of God was that?_

"Er, I'm right?" he asked dumbfounded, not even sure what his own name was.

"Yes, I think you are," she mumbled, nodding slowly. "Humans will do what they have to. Yes, you're right."

"Umh, okay," Lancelot mumbled, not quite sure what he was agreeing to.

What had just happened? He had looked into Aethelinda's eyes and somehow this act had driven all other thoughts from his mind. He found that his heart was beating rapidly against his ribs. What the hell was going on? Was he ill?

"So now that I confessed something very intimate will you finally tell me, that you feel like you have to go out to kill again?" Aethelinda asked.

Lancelot's head snapped round and he stared at her incredulously.

"Oh, please," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You act like you're the first man I ever met. I was surrounded by soldiers all my life. I know what war and killing does to them, what it turns then into. And it's the same with you. You're restless, feel like you have to continue your 'mission'. You are feeling that way, aren't you?"

Lancelot looked at her for another moment, then he quickly averted his gaze, trying to avoid repeating whatever it was that had happened, when he'd looked at her before.

"Yes," he said, and his stomach churned. "I don't know why, but I…I feel like I've hadn't had enough. And it's ridiculous, because I've had enough of it, since it first started 15 years ago. So why am I behaving this way, what is irritating me this much?"

"The habit," Aethelinda said decidedly.

"What?" Lancelot asked slightly confused.

"Killing has become a habit for you. It's like eating or sleeping. You've done it for as long as you can remember, and you've done it so often. And now, you're suddenly not allowed to eat or sleep anymore, and you're starving."

"You think I'm starved for death?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," Aethelinda said. "I'm not saying you're a killing machine. It's just something you've grown accustomed to. It will take a long time to get rid of the feeling. But it goes away eventually. It always does," she mumbled, looking thoughtfully.

"Maybe," Lancelot said. "And maybe I am a killing machine, maybe I actually enjoy it. Maybe I am that horrible."

"Oh please," Aethelinda snorted. "Of course you're not. If you were horrible, would you have left Galahad lying below that burning wood? Would you have abandoned all those Roman slaves? Would you have abandoned me?"

At the last sentence, her voice grew quieter and Lancelot looked at her.

And he could feel it again. That strange, unfamiliar feeling, that grew in his stomach and expanded, a kind of warmth that made his heart beat faster.

"I guess not," he said, concentrating on a spot right over Aethelinda's right shoulder.

"There you go then," she said, smiling at him.

The warmth returned.

**Awww, who knows what's happening? Lancelot certainly doesn't…stupid oaf…lol**

**The next one will be right up!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Aaaand the next one!**

Lancelot walked down the corridor towards Gawain's room. He'd normally speak to Arthur about this, not only because he didn't want Gawain to think he was of the whining sort, but Arthur was … otherwise engaged, as Lancelot had learnt when he had entered his friend's chamber unannounced.

Never again.

He stopped in front of Gawain's door and banged against it.

"Gawain!" he bellowed, pounding against the wood.

"Stop breaking down my door, you bastard!" Gawain's yell came muffled through the door. A second later it was wrenched open and Gawain glared at Lancelot.

"Honestly, did you just feel the sudden urge to destroy other people's property?" he said irritated.

"Yes, it just hit me, I don't know why," Lancelot answered sarcastically.

"What do you want?" Gawain grunted as he let Lancelot into the room.

"I think I'm ill," Lancelot said turning to his friend, who closed the door.

"Ill?" Gawain asked. "A gut wrenching pain in the stomach ill or ill as in hung over?"

"Neither," Lancelot answered, shaking his head. "I grow light headed, dizzy and yes, my stomach does feel funny, but not in a painful sort of way."

"Sounds like you ate wrong mushrooms," Gawain said, looking very amused.

"No, I didn't," Lancelot answered calmly.

"Alright, then, no evil mushrooms. Are you feeling dizzy right now?"

"No."

"Well I don't know! Go see someone who actually knows something about sickness."

"That's what I'm doing," Lancelot said, feeling the heat creep up his neck. He was sure he wasn't going to enjoy this next part.

"Huh?" Gawain asked dumbfounded.

"I feel like that every time I look at…at Aethelinda," Lancelot said through his teeth.

Gawain stared at him for a minute without responding.

"Are you alright?" Lancelot asked suspiciously.

"You feel like that around a … woman?" Gawain asked.

"Well, I don't know if that is the case, but all these symptoms appear when I see her. What do you think that means?" Lancelot asked.

Gawain stared at him for a second; then a slight grin crossed his face.

"I know exactly what that means," he said, the grin spreading across his face.

"Okay," Lancelot said hesitantly. "And what is-"

"Wait," Gawain interrupted him. He closed his eyes, pressed his fingertips together and took a deep breath. "I have to cherish this moment. This is too good to be true."

"What are you talking about?" Lancelot asked, growing irritated.

"You, my dear," Gawain said, opening his eyes again, "are falling for our little Saxon girl."

There was silence for a few moments.

"You're joking, right?" Lancelot asked amused.

"What do you mean?" Gawain asked, looking confused.

"Is that really the best joke you could come up with?" Lancelot asked.

"It's not a joke," Gawain said calmly.

"Yeah, right, like I'm going to believe _that_!" Lancelot snorted. He looked at Gawain, waiting to see him grin, but Gawain's face was serious.

"It's not a joke," he repeated quietly. Lancelot stared at him.

"Well, if you really believe that, let me tell you: it is the most ludicrous idea I've ever heard and it is certainly _not_ true. She's not _that_ pretty."

Gawain snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Do you really think it only comes down to beauty?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I've known you for 15 years, Lancelot," Gawain said. "I know you have very high standards for girls' appearances. Well, not always, but most of the time. You can be rather picky. But we're not talking, or at least _I'm_ not talking about spending a night with a girl. I'm talking about falling for a girl. And there's a lot more to that than simply looks. Like you said, Aethelinda isn't the prettiest girl here. But she's different. She's got quite a big mouth, can talk like a sailor, she's wild, passionate, fierce, dangerous, and at the same time fragile and scared. You've never known someone like her. Hell, I don't think anyone's ever known someone like her. Maybe the reason that you like her so much, is that there is so much more to her than just what's on the outside."

Again, there was silence. Gawain and Lancelot looked at each other, Lancelot carrying a rather frightening expression on his face.

"You're mad," he finally said. "You're mad, you are."

"Why's that?" Gawain asked.

"I…I don't…like Aethelinda. I mean, I like her, but I don't _like_ her. I'm not like that, you know that."

"Yeah, I know. Which is why I see what you have yet to see. You really do _like_ her. I've seen you with all the women before, Lancelot. This is different. Completely different."

"I'm not denying it isn't different, but it's not like _that_!" Lancelot almost yelled.

"What is it, then?" Gawain asked, still calm.

"I just enjoy her company! She's so…new, so different. It's like she can read my mind, she always knows when something is bothering me and she speaks my thoughts. She isn't afraid of anything. Well anything except of what is in her past. The way she talks, you'd think she's lived thousands of years; it's not like the mindless conversations with the tavern girls. She actually has something to say. And when she talks about something, you have the feeling she's actually experiencing it! Her eyes lighten up, they sparkle like-"

Lancelot broke off as he saw the expression on Gawain's face.

"What?" he asked.

"And you still think you don't like her?" Gawain asked.

"I don't," Lancelot said firmly.

"My god, you're blind," Gawain groaned in frustration.

"No, you are," Lancelot retorted.

"Listen," Gawain said intently. "You say you don't like her, I say you do. Let's find out who's right. Or rather, let's make you see that I am right. Don't interrupt me. Just like you said, every time you're around her, you'll feel light headed, dizzy, happy. When she smiles at you, you're heart will jump, when you accidentally touch her, your stomach will churn. When you see her with another man…you'll want to kill him. You won't be able to keep your eyes off her. I swear to you, Lancelot, you won't be able to keep your eyes off her."

"That's ridiculous," Lancelot snorted.

"We'll see about that," Gawain said, shrugging. "We'll eventually run into her, won't we? Then we'll see who's right."

"Yes, we will," Lancelot agreed fiercely.

"Here's to us!" Bors slurred, trying to raise his mug off the table.

It was evening and all the knights were sitting around a table in the tavern.

"Bors, I think you had enough," Gawain said, trying to remove the mug of ale from his friend's grip.

"No!" Bors yelled, jerking his hand away and spilling half of the mug's content onto the wood.

"Great, Vanora's going to be thrilled if we bring him home in this state," Gawain growled.

"Yeah, well, if we're going to bring him home drunk we might as well let him drink until he passes out. That way he won't wake up half the neighbourhood," Lancelot said.

"True. You can finish your ale," Gawain said to Bors, who grunted.

"So," Gawain said in an important voice. "Lancelot likes our Saxon girl."

"What?" Arthur and Galahad yelled in unison.

"No I don't!" Lancelot said exasperated. "Shut up, Gawain!"

"He does," Gawain said. "He's growing all warm and cuddly when she's around and-"

"Shut it, will you?" Lancelot said angrily. "I told you that in confidence!"

"So you do like her?" Galahad asked.

"No! I just…nothing!" Lancelot groaned.

"Why did you tell Gawain before me?" Arthur asked, sounding edgy.

"Because you were in no position to talk, if you remember;" Lancelot said angrily.

"There's no need to get snappy," Arthur said defensively.  
"Oh I am SO sorry!" Lancelot yelled. "I needed to talk to you, but you didn't have time for me, so I needed to find someone else. And now that you find out what it is, you're jealous! That's just stupid! It's not my fault, it's yours!"

"Excuse me," Arthur spluttered. "Some of us are married, we have certain duties. And since when did you set anything over bedding women on your priority chart?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lancelot asked, glaring at Arthur.

"Stop it, you two," Gawain groaned, rolling his eyes.

"I certainly won't!" Lancelot growled. "This is all your fault to begin with! If you hadn't brought it up-"

"Oh, now it's _my_ fault, is it?" Gawain shouted. "If I remember you were just blaming Arthur."

"Thanks for having my back!" Arthur yelled at Gawain.

"Survival of the fittest," Gawain said shrugging.

"What's that supposed to mean? That you're stronger than I am?" Arthur asked.

"Well spotted, "Gawain answered dryly. "Not that that is great news."

"Oh please, you couldn't beat me if you tried," Arthur snorted.

"Want to go out and see?" Gawain asked, glaring.

"By all means," Arthur responded coolly.

"God, you two sound like children," Lancelot drawled.

"Oh, you shut up!" Arthur yelled.

"Yeah!" Gawain shouted. "At least we don't sound like girls!"

"I beg your pardon?" Lancelot asked incredulously.

"You and your mushy warm feelings!"

"Shut up!"

"I will not!"

"Yes, you will!"

"Well, he's right!"

"No, he isn't!"

"Yes, he is!"

"Yes, I am!"

"No, he's not. You're not!"

"I proposed."

Lancelot, Gawain and Arthur fell silent.

They looked around. Galahad was the only one still sitting; the others had jumped to their feet. Galahad was sitting there, looking at the mug in front of him, his cheeks flushed.

"Er, what now?" Lancelot asked.

"Yeah, I think I misheard you," Gawain said.

"I proposed," Galahad said quietly.

"You proposed what?" Lancelot asked stupidly.

"You proposed to whom?" Gawain asked stupidly.

"I proposed marriage," Galahad said. "To Clarissant."

"Who? Oh, is that Vanora's little sister?" Arthur asked.

Galahad nodded. The three men sat down again, all staring at Galahad.

"You proposed marriage? Actual marriage?" Gawain asked.

"What other kind of marriage is there?" Lancelot asked and Gawain glared at him.

"Don't you think you might be moving … a bit…well, a bit fast?" Arthur asked.

"Look who's talking," Lancelot said as Gawain snorted.

"What?" Arthur asked.

"You proposed to Guinevere after two weeks. Galahad waited at least seven," Lancelot said.

"Eight," Galahad said.

"Eight," Lancelot said.

"And?" Gawain asked.

"Yeah, what did she say?" Lancelot asked eagerly,

"She said…yes," Galahad murmured, his ears turning bright red.

"Congratulations!" Gawain roared as Lancelot thumped Galahad on the back and Arthur gave a shout of triumph.

Galahad stared at them in confusion.

"You're not going to…insult me, or make fun of me?" he asked.

"Why would we do that?" Arthur asked.

"What are you talking about?" Gawain wanted to know.

"Of course we will," Lancelot said brightly. "But not right now. Now is the time for celebration. Another round of ale! Where is Vanora?" he said, looking around.

As his eyes wandered over the many people in the tavern, he saw Aethelinda coming through the door. A jolt went through his entire body, as she saw him and smiled. He smiled back and she started to make her way through the crowd. Then, a blonde soldier stepped up to her and said something. Aethelinda smiled and answered, her cheeks growing slightly pink.

Lancelot felt as if his insides had suddenly turned to stone. He followed the conversation between the two with hard eyes.

"You alright?" Gawain asked.

Lancelot turned towards him and followed Gawain's gaze. Lancelot's hand was gripped tightly around his sword.

"Fine," Lancelot said, loosening his grip.

Gawain looked at his friend in confusion, then his gaze fell on something over Lancelot's right shoulder and realization seemed to dawn on him.

""I told you so," Gawain said quietly. Lancelot was sure he was going to laugh and prepared to throw a punch, but Gawain just looked at him for another moment, then he turned towards Galahad and Arthur again.

Lancelot turned around again to see what had happened and looked right at someone's stomach.

"Up here," Aethelinda said and smiled as Lancelot looked up.

"Hello," he said, his heart racing. He blamed it on the shock.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked.

"You absolutely have to!" Gawain said, grinning at her and making room for her on the bench.

"We were just celebrating," he continued, as Aethelinda sat down.

"Celebrating what?" she asked, looking around expectantly.

"Galahad's engagement," Arthur said, clapping his friend on the back.

"So you finally proposed to Clarissant?" Aethelinda asked. "A good thing you did. She was getting worried that you were just playing with her the way Bors is with Vanora."

"What?" Gawain, Arthur and Galahad said in unison.

"Bors isn't playing with Vanora," Lancelot said sharply.

"There's no need to snap at me," she said, regarding him coolly. "Anyway, I never said that. It's what Clarissant thinks."

Lancelot kicked himself inwardly.

"You've talked to Clarissant about these things?" Gawain asked.

"Sure," Aethelinda said, shrugging.

"When? Why?" Galahad asked.

"It involved an incident which started with a drunken soldier making a pass at her late at night and ended with me beating the living daylight out of him. Girls bond over such things," she said, winking and all the men laughed. Lancelot found the winking very appealing.

"Anyway, congratulations," Aethelinda said, smiling at Galahad. "You've got yourself a real angel." Galahad smiled back, his head turning bright read yet again.

A loud bang made them all jump. Bors had finally managed to pass out and was slumped over the table. Arthur groaned and he and Gawain laid their friend onto the bench, pushing Aethelinda off in the process.

"Sorry," Gawain said, holding out his hand to her, which she took.

Lancelot felt another twitch.

"There's no room on this bench anymore," Arthur gasped, rolling Bors into the right position.

"No problem," Aethelinda said. "I can sit down here."

She walked around the table and sat down next to Lancelot, her arm brushing against his.

He felt his heart jump at the contact. He looked up quickly and found Gawain watching him intently.

"So, "she said, turning towards Lancelot. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you," he answered, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Good," she said and smiled.

Since when did she smile so much? Why was she so happy? Was it because of the soldier?

"Who was that soldier you were talking to before?" he asked, trying to sound barely interested. He could feel Gawain's gaze on him, but decided to ignore it

"Oh, that was Claudas," Aethelinda said, her smile growing wider.

"Right," Lancelot said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the hot anger in his stomach.

"Yes, we sometimes train sword fights together and I completely destroyed him today. He has the most wonderful wife. And his daughter is so beautiful," she gushed.

"Wife? Daughter?" Lancelot asked, feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted off him.

"Yes, they're wonderful," she said, still smiling at him.

"Excuse me; is there still room at this table?"

Lancelot looked up and felt his heart drop.

The blonde serving girl was standing in front of him, throwing a dismissive look at Aethelinda before she looked at him again and started beaming.

**Oh noooo! The perfect mood is interrupted by the easy tavern girl! What will happen? Will she destroy everything? Will Lancelot choose her instead (yeah, right!)? Will ****Aethelinda give up her seat for her?**

**I'll let you know real soon! And please please please review, people! I love writing fan fiction, but I don't actually see any point in posting it, if I don't get any reviews!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Aaand the next one! I won't be able to update until next week, because I'm away on holiday, so I thought I'd give you a real treat in this one****. Enjoy!**

"Sorry, I don't think we can squeeze another one in," Gawain said.

"Why? There's still room here," the blonde girl said, pointing at the four inches of bare bench between Lancelot and Aethelinda.

"However slender you might be, I doubt you'll fit in there," Aethelinda said coolly.

The girl smirked at her and threw her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"I think I'll fit in there very nicely," she said and before anyone else could say anything, she squeezed herself between Aethelinda and Lancelot, shoving Aethelinda half off her seat.

"See?" she said, smiling radiantly at Lancelot.

"Great," he said, not quite sure what to say or do.

On the one hand, he wasn't that fond of the girl being here; he didn't want her to think that she could win him over by showing up everywhere he went. And on the other hand… he had to admit that the created space between Aethelinda and himself made it a lot more easy to focus and think clearly. So it really wasn't about women, it was about Aethelinda. Maybe she was carrying a virus that made him feel that way…

"So," Galahad said, looking rather uncomfortable. "Who wants another ale?"

"I'll help you get it," Arthur practically yelled and sprang to his feet.

Lancelot threw him a dark look and Arthur walked away, trying to appear apologetic, but not able to keep the relief from his face.

"Traitor," Lancelot mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?" the blonde girl asked, turning towards him.

"Nothing," he answered, managing a smile. She smiled back, fluttering her lashes a bit too strong. "So what's it like being a strong brave knight, killing the evil and protecting the good?" she asked.

Aethelinda snorted and the blonde girl turned towards her, her expression not so friendly anymore.

"Yes?" she asked.

"You've already bedded the man; why are you asking him that _now_? Don't you ever update your lines?" she asked frostily.

"Do you have anything else to say?" the girl asked, her voice just as icy.

"Yes," Aethelinda replied.

"And what might that be?"

"You're in my seat," Aethelinda answered, her voice deadly calm.

Throwing her head back, the girl laughed loudly.

"Do you really think that a knight would prefer sitting next to a Saxon girl than to me?" she asked. Aethelinda raised an eyebrow at her.

"Well, let's ask him then, shall we?" the girl said and turned towards Lancelot. "Would you rather sit next to me or to her?"

"Er…" Lancelot was at a loss for words. What was the right answer to that question? Was there even a right answer? There was no right answer to that question!

"Well, I don't know…I don't mind … sitting like this," he said desperately.

A triumphant grin spread across the blonde girl's face. Aethelinda's expression froze and her eyes grew hard and angry.

"God you're stupid," Gawain moaned under his breath.

"What was I supposed to say?" Lancelot asked through gritted teeth.

"I'd prefer Aethelinda sitting next to me?" Gawain said.

"But I don't!" Lancelot whispered, while Aethelinda and the girl were glaring daggers at each other.

"What?" Gawain asked.

"It feels kind of uncomfortable…in a good way," Lancelot said quietly.

"Uncomfortable in a good way?" Gawain asked matter of factly. "You do realize that doesn't actually make any sense, do you? Because I'd be pretty alarmed right now if you didn't."

"Oh, shut your face!" Lancelot hissed, as Gawain grinned.

"Right," Aethelinda said, getting to her feet. "I'm leaving."

She looked at Lancelot for a moment. He wasn't sure what it was that he could see in her eyes. Anger, definitely, disappointment, maybe…and something else, something else entirely, but he just couldn't place it…

"A wise decision," the blonde girl said, smirking. "We don't want Saxon scum like you at our table."

Lancelot knew immediately that she had crossed the line.

Aethelinda stood rooted to the spot. Then she slowly turned around, her black eyes glittering with rage.

"What did you just call me?" she hissed.

"Didn't you hear me?" the girl asked. "Saxon scum. Barbarians like you aren't welcome here."

Aethelinda shot forwards so fast, Lancelot barely saw her move.

Her face was only inches from the blonde girl's.

"Don't you dare insult my people," she hissed. "I'll slit your throat if another such word comes out of it."

"Am I supposed to be scared now?" the girl asked.

Aethelinda smirked in a way that Lancelot found rather evil.

"Yes, you should be scared," Aethelinda said as she straightened up again. "Saxons don't get along well with whores."

"Oh, boy," Gawain mumbled.

Lancelot stared at Aethelinda who, still smirking, turned her back on them and started to walk away.

"_What_ did you just call me?" the blonde girl said, getting to her feet.

Aethelinda turned back and took a step towards her.

"Didn't you hear me?" she asked. "I called you a whore."

And then it happened. Again, it was too fast for Lancelot's eyes, but the loud smack was clearly audible.

The blonde girl had slapped Aethelinda in the face with full force and Aethelinda's head snapped to the side, her hair hiding her face from view.

"You'd better learn your place, Saxon," the girl hissed.

Aethelinda turned slowly around, her eyes practically on fire; Lancelot thought he could see sparks flying from them.

Without a warning Aethelinda shot forward and the blonde girl screamed in pain and stumbled back. As she looked up, Lancelot saw four long scratches across her cheek, blood dropping onto the front of her dress. Aethelinda's fingertips were red as well.

"I'll kill you," she hissed and darted forwards again, but Gawain had stood up and grabbed Aethelinda's arms, before she could reach the girl.

"Let me go!" she yelled angrily at Gawain.

"Normally I wouldn't take the 'I'll kill you' phrase seriously, but in your case I know it would in fact be the result, so I'm afraid I can't," Gawain said, no humour in his voice.

Aethelinda glared at him, but didn't resist when he lead her out of the tavern. She only looked at the girl with such loathing in her eyes; Lancelot found he had to look away.

He looked at the girl instead. Blood was still running down her cheek and tears were falling from her eyes.

"You alright?" he asked, fully aware he wasn't sounding very polite.

"Do I look alright?" she snapped at him, grimacing in pain.

"Let's get you out of here," he said tonelessly.

He wasn't very eager to help her with anything, much rather, he felt like following Aethelinda's example and knock some sense into the vain girl. Still, he had manners and a lot of things would have to take place before he hit a girl.

They walked out of the tavern onto the dark street. Gawain and Aethelinda were nowhere to be seen.

They walked onto the other side of the street and followed the wall.

"That filthy Saxon witch!" the girl spat. "That ugly, dirty-"

Something snapped inside Lancelot's head. Before she had finished her sentence he had pinned her against the wall, their faces only inches apart.

"Watch your mouth, girl," he hissed, trying to control his anger. "I might not be the one to cut out your tongue, but I will not hold her back if she does."

The blonde girl looked frightened for a second, then a smirk appeared on her bloody face.

"Would you look at that," she sneered. "The mighty Lancelot has fallen for the ugly Saxon girl. Who would have thought?"

Lancelot pressed her harder against the wall, their faces now only an inch apart.

"Careful," he hissed. "My patience is limited."

At that moment he heard quiet footsteps behind him. Looking around, he saw Aethelinda stand there. The moon light illuminated her pale face, her huge eyes were shining.

"Oh," she said, taking a step back. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" she looked at Lancelot for another moment, then she turned on her heel and walked away swiftly.

"And there she goes, leaving the lonely knight," the blonde girl whispered.

Normally Lancelot would have snapped at that comment, but he hadn't even heard her.

At the moment Aethelinda had appeared in the moonlight, it had hit him with such a force, he had trouble not to stumble.

Gawain had been right.

The blonde girl had been right.

They all had been.

He _was_ falling for Aethelinda. It wasn't anything he'd ever known before and he didn't know what to do. But one thing he did know. He could not let her get away.

"Are you going to press me against this wall all night?" the girl asked.

"No," Lancelot said and let go off her. At that moment raindrops started to fall from the dark sky.

He couldn't let her get away.

"Aethelinda," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else and he turned on his heels and started to run into the direction she had vanished.

The rain was falling harder every second, drenching him to skin as he ran through the streets.

"Aethelinda!" he yelled, looking around frantically. "Aethelinda!"

Thunder was roaring over his head and a lightening illuminated his surroundings. And in this light he saw her walking down a narrow street away from him.

He darted after her, mud splashing into every direction.

He reached out and took hold of her arm. Aethelinda jumped in shock and whirled around. Her expression changed from shocked to defensive.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice cool. "Why aren't you with your blonde friend?"

"What?" Lancelot asked, taken aback by the question.

"Oh, don't be like that, Lancelot," Aethelinda scoffed, frowning. "Don't play the innocent now. It's alright, I understand. What was I even thinking? I wasn't thinking, that's it. I'm sorry I disturbed you," she said and turned around again to walk away.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

And Lancelot was desperate.

He tugged at the slender wrist he was still holding, yanking her around. Before she had anytime to protest, he kissed her.

It wasn't like anything he'd ever experienced before. Thousands of lightening bolts exploded in front of his eyes, his heart was pounding against his ribs and he felt like he was floating.

They broke apart and Aethelinda looked at him with a dreamy but wary expression in her eyes. He leaned forward to kiss her again but she jerked back.

"Do you mean it?" she asked. He halted.

"Do you mean it, or is this a game?" she asked softly, the rain running down her face.

Lancelot looked at her. And for the first time, he could every single emotion in her eyes.

He could see the fear, the apprehension, the doubt, the need, the hope, the…

"Do you mean it?" she asked again.

"I do," he said. She took a deep breath, but then she shook her head.

"How can I know you're telling the truth?" she asked.

"By trusting me," he said, taking her face into his hands, brushing a raindrop from her cheek, as he looked into her eyes, willing her to see that he was honest, that she had no reason to be afraid. She stared back at him.

"Do you trust me?" he asked quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the pounding over the rain. She looked at him for another moment, then slowly, she nodded.

Lancelot felt like a huge weight had been lifted off him and he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

He smiled at her and she smiled back hesitantly at first, then her smile became wider until her whole face seemed to glow. She was so beautiful, so true, so real Lancelot felt dizzy with joy.

Slowly he bent down and kissed her again, burying his hands in her wet hair.

He wished it would never stop.

He wished that that moment would never seize.

He wished he could stay right there forever.

**Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! Fiiiiiiinally! It was about time, really. After 11 chapters of pretty much non fluff, this just had to happen, I had to catch the interest of you romance suckers out there lol. Hope it's not too cheesy, just felt right at that moment.**

**Please review, people!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Okay, I know it's been ages since the last chapter, but I really have no time at all to write, which drives me nuts…! **

This was a critical situation.

There were lots of critical situations, but this…

This was a situation like no other.

Lancelot paced up and down his room, racking his brain.

Last night he had kissed Aethelinda outside the tavern in the rain.

Now he'd had time to make up his mind about it, but instead of thinking about it he'd fallen asleep, which meant he had to deal with it now, in the morning. And that only gave him very limited time.

He definitely wasn't used to thinking so much about a kiss or a girl, which frustrated him even more.

Sighing impatiently he sat down at the end of his bed.

He wasn't the one-woman-for-all-eternity-type. He was the all-women-for-all-eternity-type.

And this…this _thinking _about a single woman was something he wasn't used to at all. And he didn't like it very much either. If he thought too much about it, it would become an even more serious situation and if it became a more serious situation, it would get complicated and if it got complicated it would matter and if it mattered…

If it mattered, then she'd matter.

Shaking his head angrily, Lancelot tried to drive Aethelinda's image out of his mind.

Unsuccessfully, of course.

All he could see before his eyes was her face. And he could still feel her hair under his fingers, he could still smell the rain on her skin…

Stop it!

Feeling rather tempted to punch himself unconscious, Lancelot took a deep breath to calm himself down.

He couldn't remember what had happened after the kiss; he had experienced it all in a kind of daze, like he'd drunk way too much ale.

Anyway, the question wasn't what had happened, but what _would_ happen.

What did the kiss mean?

Did she expect him to propose first thing tomorrow?

Would she ignore him?

Would they have a kind of casual … thing?

Would they just leave it at being friends?

Lancelot scowled at the idea.

He definitely knew that he didn't just want to be friends with Aethelinda.

But all the alternatives seemed even worse.

Except the casual one; that might have its perks…

"No way," Lancelot thought, "she'd never agree. Bullocks."

Not able to control himself, Lancelot let out a yell of frustration, followed by a loud knock on the door.

"It's her!" he thought, panicking immediately.

Without hesitating he dashed under the bed.

The door flew open and Lancelot could see a pair of large brown boots.

False alarm.

"Lancelot?" Gawain asked.

"I'm here," Lancelot said and crawled out from under the bed, not appreciating the undignified position this put him in.

Gawain stared at him in disbelief.

"What?" Lancelot asked.

"What were you doing under your bed?" Gawain wanted to know, eyeing his friend cautiously.

"Oh, I, er…I was looking for..umh…I was looking for my boot!" he invented.

Gawain raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't really think I'd believe that, did you?"

Bugger.

"Er…Maybe?" Lancelot answered weakly.

"Alright. Now what were you really doing under there?"

"Hiding," Lancelot murmured in defeat.

"Hiding?" Gawain asked, looking surprised.

"Yeah," Lancelot mumbled.

"And why were you hiding?"

"Because…because I'm trying to…to avoid a certain…issue."

"What issue?" Gawain asked curiously.

"Just an issue," Lancelot said, shrugging.

"Okay," Gawain said suspiciously. "And now the important question: _Who_ were you hiding from?"

"I was really hoping you'd forget to ask that," Lancelot groaned.

"I know," Gawain grinned. "It's why I saved it for last."

"Wanker," Lancelot growled.

"So who were you hiding from?"

"None of your business."

"True. I still want to know though."

"Well I'm not telling you."

"Oh yes, you are!"

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Hell yes!"

"Hell no!"

Lancelot!" Gawain said. "You know you'll have to tell me eventually."

"And why ever would that be the case?" Lancelot snorted.

"Because you cannot talk to anyone else," Gawain stated. "You can't talk to Bors, because he doesn't really understand anything about…well anything, really. You can't talk to Galahad, because you're always making fun of him for…well you always make fun of him. And since you're reluctant to tell me about this…thing, it must be something in the direction of emotions and the only emotion you don't want to talk about is…well all the mushy, feely stuff. And you can't talk to Arthur about it, because you might let down your guard and tell him you fancied his wife a great deal."

"Well, yes but-" Lancelot froze and stared at Gawain.

"What did you just say?"

"Please don't make me repeat it," Gawain said.

"I don't…I mean I didn't fancy Guinevere. What gave you that idea?" Lancelot asked alarmed.

"Oh please," Gawain scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'll admit you can be a good liar, but not good enough to fool me. Relax, Arthur doesn't know. I'd be surprised if anybody knew beside me."

There was silence for a few moments.

"How did you know?" Lancelot asked finally.

"Oh well," Gawain began. "I don't think I've ever seen you _not_ hitting on a woman and seeing as this particular one was also extremely beautiful and you never made a single remark…well that got me suspicious. And you weren't that careful about letting nobody see you when you were looking at her. Still fancy her?"

"No," Lancelot said, shaking his head. "Listen, I'd be… really grateful if you could keep this to yourself. I don't want Arthur to know."

"No problem," Gawain said, nodding.

"Thank you," Lancelot said in relief.

"But," Gawain began, a grin creeping onto his face.

"What, but?" Lancelot asked in alarm.

"I promise not to tell anyone about it ever…if you tell me who you were hiding from."

Lancelot groaned as Gawain's grin grew even wider.

"I walked into that one, didn't I?" he said through clenched teeth.

"Yes, you did," Gawain said brightly.

"Fine," Lancelot growled through gritted teeth and he sat down on the bed again.

"I was hiding from Aethelinda." He said.

Gawain stared at him for a moment in complete surprise.

"Come again?" he said.

"I was hiding from Aethelinda," Lancelot repeated.

"Okay, "Gawain said slowly, sitting down as well. "And why were you hiding from her?"

"Because I wanted to avoid her."

I gathered that," Gawain said dryly. "Why were you trying to avoid her?"

Lancelot looked at the flames dancing in the fire place. Gleaming sparks flew onto the cold stones. Sparks like the ones that flew from Aethelinda's eyes when she was angry.

"Are you still with me?" Gawain asked.

"Yes," Lancelot said, shaking his head slightly. "I was trying to avoid her, because of the issue I have to deal with."

"And what is this infamous issue?"

"I kissed her," Lancelot blurted out.

Gawain looked at Lancelot for a moment, then at the fire.

"What, no response?" Lancelot asked.

"It was bound to happen," Gawain said shrugging.

"Huh?" Lancelot asked stupidly.

"Lancelot," Gawain said in a rather patronizing voice. "If you thought I would be surprised at this, then you're utterly wrong. She's a girl, you're…well you're Lancelot. Ergo, it was bound to happen. What's the big deal? So you spent a night together, why would you have to hide under the bed because of that?"

"We didn't spend the night together;" Lancelot said.

Now it was Gawain's turn to look stupid. "What now?"

"We didn't," Lancelot repeated. "We just kissed. Once."

"And afterwards?" Gawain asked.

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember?" Gawain asked incredulously.

"No."

"How was it?"

"What?"

"How was it?" Gawain said slowly.

"Unusual," Lancelot said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gawain asked impatiently.

"Exactly what I said! It was unusual!" Lancelot said loudly, growing rather angry.

"What do you mean by unusual?" Gawain asked persistently. "In a bad way? Like a Saxon? Really bad or-"

"No!" Lancelot yelled and sprang to his feet. "It was unusual in a way that I never experienced before, okay? It was…terrifying, it was amazing! It threw me completely off balance, I don't know what to feel or what to do, I'm racking my brains, but I have absolutely no clue what to do!" he bellowed

Gawain looked at him mildly.

"So that's what this is about," he said tonelessly.

"What do you mean?" Lancelot asked harshly.

"You really like her. You've never really liked women like that before. It confuses you and it scares you. You don't want it. So you're trying to find a way out of this."

There was silence.

"I'm right, am I not?" Gawain asked.

Lancelot didn't answer, but Gawain knew anyway.

"I don't…" Lancelot began. "I don't know what this means. I don't know what this feeling is. I don't want it. It's not something I've ever felt before and I don't like it. I'm afraid it will lead to… well, bigger things. I don't want that, I'm not like that."

"I know," Gawain said, sighing heavily. "So, what now?"

"I don't know," Lancelot mumbled, shrugging.

"Are you going to tell her, that you had a really good time kissing her, but you don't want to feel anything for her so it's better if you just stopped speaking to each other?"

"Of course not," Lancelot said, anger flaring up again.

"No, I suppose it's too late for that," Gawain marvelled.

"What do you mean?" Lancelot asked.

"Exactly what I said, "Gawain answered. "It is already too late to tell her, that you don't want to feel anything for her. Because you already do, don't you?"

Lancelot didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

Gawain knew anyway.

**Well, not very exciting, but I wanted to show that Lancelot really isn't used to emotions and has trouble coping with it. I have to say, I like Gawain more and more.**** I should give him a girl, too as a reward for being such a good friend to Lancelot, don't you think? ;-)**

**It might be a while until I update more, I apologize…**

**Please review, my good readers! **


	14. Chapter 14

**Wow it's been ages and I am very very VERY sorry, but I literally have no time at all to write. And please, people, leave reviews, if I don't get any I won't continue to write! Mind you, I'm so rusty it might be a good thing to stop ;-) Enjoy!**

Lancelot had spent the whole day doing two things.

Firstly trying to come up with a way to deal with his … situation. Unfortunately he hadn't really succeeded. He simply didn't know what to do or how to react, should he encounter Aethelinda.

And secondly, trying to avoid her. That part of his plan had worked out quite well. He'd simply refused to leave his quarters until sunset, receiving quite a few teasing comments from his fellow knights, all of whom, thanks to Gawain, had already learnt of the happenings of the night before. Inwardly cursing himself for telling Gawain, Lancelot continued to walk p and down the room. He wasn't sure whether it was the fact that he'd been forced to stay in his room all day, or whether he was growing impatient with himself for not having found a solution for his problem yet.

Maybe both.

Sighing frustrated he sat down on the edge of his bed and stared into the fire.

It wasn't only the fact that he didn't want to feel anything for a woman. That part was frightening enough. He didn't want to be that attached to another human being, always wondering what they were doing, always worrying about them, growing insanely jealous every time they spoke to someone else.

There was also the fact that he didn't have anything to offer.

He wasn't a rich man. He had no power. He was a knight. A killer. There was nothing there that could promise a woman a secure future. That simply wasn't enough.

And then there was of course the fact that he was already thinking about the future. The only way in which he thought about women and future in one sentence was how to get out of her room the morning after. This was a very unsettling turn of events…or rather of thoughts.

He didn't know what it was about Aethelinda, but she made him think of the future in a compleltely different way. He didn't know her all that well. He knew that she had a troubled past, that she had lead a hard life, knowing things only of death, terror, violence. Maybe it was exactly that. They were so much alike, being forced to fight and kill all their lives. Maybe the fact that this was a person who knew exactly what he felt, who knew what it felt like to kill someone to survive made her stand out from the rest.

And maybe it was just the opposite. Maybe it was the fact that at the same time she was so unlike him. She didn't trust anyone, never wanted to trade in joy for terror, never really letting down her thick coat of armor, never seizing to fight.

_Stop thinking!_ He told himself and squeezed his eyes shut, but all that did was conjuring up Aethelinda's pale face and her huge dark eyes.

Lancelot actually yelled in frustration. At that moment there was a knock on the door.

"What?" he snarled and whirled around as the door opened.

"Peace, Lancelot," Gawain said as he entered the room.

"I will kill you," Lancelot said.



"For what?" Gawain asked, seeming only mildly interested.

"For telling everyone else what I confided in you!" Lancelot said angrily.

"Oh calm down, would you?" Gawain said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "They would have found out anyway. Do you really think that they would just let you sit in your room all day without asking questions?"

Lancelot looked at Gawain for a moment, then said:

"I really hate you sometimes."

"I know," Gawain said, winking. "It's because I'm just so brilliant."

"Right," Lancelot snorted and Gawain grinned.

"So how is all that hiding-in-your-room-stuff coming along?" he asked.

"Just marvelous," Lancelot said dryly.

"I thought so," Gawain said. "Let's go down to the pub."

"I can't," Lancelot said feebly.

"Why not?"

"Because we might encounter her," he mumbled.

"How scared are you of this woman?" Gawain asked, looking rather worried.

"Pretty scared," he answered honestly.

"Bt if we go down to the pub," Gawain said, being kind enough not to comment, "you can get drunk and then she won't be able to confront you or if she does manage and you totally blow it you can always blame it on the ale."

Lancelot thought about this for a second.

"That is a very good plan," he said.

"Of course it is," Gawain scoffed.

"Let me guess," Lancelot said, smirking. "It is brilliant because you thought of it?"

"Naturally," Gawain answered.

"Naturally."

"Do you see her anywhere?" Lancelot asked, looking around frantically.



"Don't be so bloody paranoid," Gawain muttered as they made their way through the crowd towards the table where Arthur and Galahad were sitting.

"Yeah right, because you would be totally cool in this situation," Lancelot hissed.

"As a matter of fact I would be."

"Sure," Lancelot snorted. "We'll see about that when the time has come."

Gawain turned around so abruptly, that Lancelot almost stumbled into him.

"Enlighten me," he said, looking serious. "what exactly do you mean by 'that time'?"

"I…" Lancelot didn't know what to say.

"That's what I thought," Gawain said and studied his friend's face. "We really are talking about _that_ time, aren't we?"

"What? What are you talking about?" Lancelot asked, trying to sound innocent.

"You know exactly what I mean," Gawain muttered, turned around and made his way towards Arthur and Galahad.

Lancelot stood there struck dumb for a second. Then he shook his head as if to rid himself of his thoughts and pushed past a couple of drunk soldiers.

The table was slightly obscured by two guards arguing loudly. Lancelot scowled and shoved them out of the way.

His heart sank.

Sittin on the wooden bench right next to Arthur, was Aethelinda.

She looked up as he came towards them, her face an immobile mask.

"Lancelot!" Arthur said, not able to hide his amusement. "Why don't you join us?"

"Fine," Lancelot said through clenched teeth, sitting down stiffly opposite Aethelinda and trying hard to avoid her gaze.

"So how are you?" Arthur asked, a slight grin appearing on his face.

"Fine," Lancelot repeated through clenched teeth.

"We've been missing you today," Arthur continued.

"Yeah, where were you?" Galahad asked, looking unbelievably amused. Lancelot shot him a death glare, but Galahad just raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"I, er…I had things to do," he said, literally shaking with rage, while Gawain and Galahad were shaking with suppressed laughter.

"What sort of things?" Arthur asked.

"Who cares?" Aethelinda said, rolling her eyes. "So, Galahad, does that wedding veil fit on your head yet?"



Gawain fell off the bench, tears streaming down his face as he continued to laugh.

Lancelot grinned as Arthur roared with laughter and Galahad' ears turned bright red.

Lancelot threw a grateful look at Aethelinda and she winked at him, making his stomach flop like a fish.

"Why yes it does, thank you very much," Galahad said stiffly. "I brought it with me because I thought you might want to borrow it."

"Er…why?" she asked.

"Well, seeing as Lancelot might want to put one on you in the very near future, seeing as what happened between the two of you," he answered, grinning evilly.

Lancelot froze solid and he could feel Aethelinda do the same.

"Evil," Gawain said, enjoying the situation immensely.

Galahad raised an eyebrow at Lancelot, still smirking.

"Well, I see that this situation is going to turn into a very uncomfortable silence, so…I'll just leave," Gawain said and fled, Galahad running after him, still grinning.

"Yes, well, uh…" Arthur said, shifting in his seat. "So. Umh…"

"Oh for God's sake just leave, will you?" Lancelot snapped and Arthur sped out.

And of course, the predicted uncomfortable silence followed.

"Wow," Aethelinda said, snorting slightly. "This really is uncomfortable."

"You telling me," Lancelot murmured and they both grinned.

"Listen," he began.

"Leave it," she said, holding up a hand. "It…well it happened, let's leave it at that. It's not like there are going to be any severe consequences. It wasn't that big a deal, okay?"

"Oh, okay," he said, taken aback.

"Look," she sighed, staring into her ale. "You're alright. I mean, you're a self-centered, self-absorbed, arrogant male whore. But you're alright, really." She said.

"Wow, I'm flattered," he said and she laughed.

"I do like you, I don't know in what way, but…well even if I _liked you_ liked you it would never worked out. You're not a one-woman kind of guy, are you? And anway…we're too different. I am a Saxon and believe it or not I am proud of it. It's my heritage and I would never defy it in my whole life. And…and I want to go back, I really do. I miss it."

"You miss it?" Lancelot asked incredulously. "What exactly do you miss? Being beaten to death by your brothers, killing children, having to spend time among barbarians?"

Aethelinda looked at him, her eyes as cold as ice.

_Oops._

"Is that what you think it's like? Really?" she asked, looking furious. "Let me ask you something: did you have brothers?"

"Yeah, two."

"Good. Did you ever fight, you know like brothers do? Punching and pummeling each other?"

"Uh, sure we did."

"There you go. I was the only girl in a family of six brothers. How would they know how to treat a girl and anyway why would I want to be treated differently? Being beaten by my brothers? It usually ended with them having broken noses and blue eyes and me not bearing a single mark. And killing children? Excuse me, Mr. Saint, you've certainly never killed anyone, have you?"

"It's not the same-"

"Oh, really? Have you always made absolutely certain that the people you killed were older than twenty? Or at what age did you draw the line? Twenty three?"

"No, I-"

"Well there you go again. And you call is barbarians? Do you actually know anything about Saxons besides what color their blood is? You don't, do you? You have absolutely no idea what our lives are like, how we work, what our culture is like. But you can condemn us nevertheless, can't you?"

Lancelot wouldn't have thought it possible, but he felt even more uncomfortable than a few minutes ago.

"I'm sorry," she said. "actually, no I am definitely not. It makes me so angry when someone judges my people based entirely on prejudices. Everyone does."

"I'm sorry," Lancelot said, feeling like a total bastard.

"Forget it," Aethelinda scoffed and drank from her mug.

"Well, good night," she said and got up.

"You're leaving?" he asked.

"That's what one normally does when he bids someone good night," she said, turned around and left.

Lancelot was sure, that he had never in his life felt like a bigger idiot.

**Alright, pleeeeeease revieeeeeeeeeew!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Okay, I don't actually have any time at all to write this next**** chapter, but I'm so stoked to be writing again that I just ditched everything else. That is commitment, my friends…;-)**

**I'd like to dedicate this chapter to two readers in particular:**

**DevilAndGodAreRagingInsideMe, for a truly beautiful and inspiring review**

**And vampout, for being the most loyal reader, whose reviews always see me through the next chapter…**

**Thanks a lot! And now, here we go:**

"I've had enough."

Lancelot looked up at Gawain, who was standing in front of him, hands on his hips, glaring down at him. Lancelot had a flashback to all the women who would start with the same words, in the exact same position, when he started dumping them. Still, he thought it prudent to keep that thought to himself.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked.

"I've had enough of this," Gawain repeated.

"And what exactly is 'this' ?" Lancelot wanted to know.

"_This_." Gawain said, gesturing around wildly.

"Er…would you care to elaborate?"

Gawain sighed in frustration. "This thing you're doing has to stop. And don't ask me what it is, I was going to tell you!" he yelled, as Lancelot opened his mouth.

"Ever since…since that talk you had with Aethelinda about not…well not _doing_ anything, you're not yourself anymore. No, wait, that's not true. Because you're not somebody else, you're _no one_! When we go to the tavern, you stay here and when we convince you to come you just sit there, stare at the wall and drink your ale! You don't joke, you don't flirt with women…have you even slept with one this month?"

"Er, no."

"You _see_?" Gawain said, looking desperate.

"So what?" Lancelot said, shrugging. "What if I'm not myself right now?"

"Well, it is annoying as hell!" Gawain said, then hesitated. "And to tell you the truth, even though I am never going to live this down, I do _kind_ of miss the old you. Not the male-whore-bastard, but the ironic, sarcastic you. All the other guys do just not know how to work irony, let alone sarcasm. It's a bit difficult being the only really intelligent being in the room."

Lancelot stared at him for a moment and Gawain squirmed in unease.

"Wow, " Lancelot said after a while. "I guess that was as close as you will ever come to say 'I love you' to me."

"Damn straight," Gawain grunted.

"I appreciate that," Lancelot said truthfully. "The reason I'm not behaving like my normal self is because…well, I don't feel like my normal self."

"You think?" Gawain said, rolling his eyes.

"Gawain!" Lancelot said disdainfully. "I'm getting all deep and emotional, do you think you could resist sarcasm just this once?"

"I'll try," Gawain said, holding up his hands.

"Thanks," Lancelot murmured.

"So why aren't you feeling like yourself?" Gawain wanted to know. "Is it because of a very complicated, dark secret that you hold deep within or because you succumbed to the bitch that is lo-"

"It's not love," Lancelot said harshly.

"How would you know?" Gawain asked.

"I…what?"

"You said yourself that you'd never been in love. How would you know that you aren't right now?"

"Well, I just…know, don't I?" Lancelot said defensively.

"Sure you do," Gawain said rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I guess whatever you want to call it, this … _thing_ you have with Aethelinda; that's the reason for all this, isn't it?"

Lancelot didn't answer. He stared into the fire, until Gawain cleared his throat.

"I don't know what's going on," Lancelot began. "When I kissed her…I've never experienced anything like it. I felt so…happy and peaceful and warm. I never wanted it to stop. And then somehow it did and I really don't remember what happened afterwards, only that we didn't end up in my room together, only me on my own and I totally panicked. I was utterly freaked out by the whole…thing. It's not what I do, it's not what I am-"

"Oh, cut it out, will you?" Gawain intervened rather sharply. "All this crap about it not being who you are and all that bullocks! If that isn't you, then what is? A guy who only toys with women and charms them to get them into bed? Is that how you want to define yourself? Is it really? Because if it is I would be rather disappointed in you. I've watched you doing this sleeping around thing long enough and when Aethelinda came along I didn't only think that you would change. I thought that you changed with _her_. That she was the one. _Your_ one. But no, of course you had to go and fuck it up royally! Why can't you just accept the fact, that what's happening to you right now is exactly who and what you are? Why do you have to fight it so stubbornly, you complete _idiot_?"

Lancelot was so surprised by this sudden outburst of anger, that he forgot to blink and his eyes started burning. Gawain looked back at him, his chest heaving.

"Well, that was unexpected," Gawain said dryly. "I thought I could suppress that."

"Looks like you couldn't," Lancelot said.

"Yes, so it would seem."

"So that's what you really think?" Lancelot wanted to know, his voice completely neutral.

"Yes, it is," Gawain said, straightening. "I know it's not exactly what you would have liked to hear and it's not really something that someone would say to their friend, but-"

"I think you're wrong," Lancelot interjected, his voice hard. "I think you're absolutely and utterly wrong."

"I'm not surprised," Gawain said mildly.

"No, that's not what I mean," Lancelot said, shaking his head. "I think, that's _exactly_ what friends should say to one another. If people aren't going to hear it from their friends, then from whom else?"

Gawain blinked in surprised. "Uh, okay."

"Thank you for that."

"You're welcome…I guess," Gawain said, still looking rather puzzled. "So…what now?"

Lancelot sighed in frustration and rubbed his face. "I have absolutely no idea. The last time we spoke about our…well, _thing_, we agreed not to pursue it, because she knew I couldn't do faithful and she didn't want to do it the other way round."

"Ah, but so she admitted, that she liked you," Gawain said, having overcome his shock.

"Yes, she did," Lancelot said, a curious feeling spreading in his stomach. "She said she liked me, but she wasn't sure in what way."

Gawain snorted. "I can translate that for you. That's women; in English it means: I am absolutely and head over heels in love with you, marry me now and shag me until I pass out."

"You don't think that's pushing it a bit?" Lancelot asked, raising an eyebrow,

"No," Gawain answered, his face not moving. "Well, alright, but it definitely means that she likes you. You know how complicated women are, they can't talk normal.

"Yeah, it makes them seem less mystic," Lancelot said.

"Someone understand women," Gawain said.

"Amen to that!"

"Anyway," Gawain said, shaking his head. "She obviously likes you, you obviously like her, you definitely seem to click on every level if I may say so…I have to confess something."

"What?"

"I absolutely do not see where the problem is," Gawain answered truthfully.

"Yeah, it does seem so easy, doesn't it?" Lancelot laughed bitterly. "It's not just my inability to commit or whatever I'm so paranoid about."

"What else is there?"

"She's a Saxon. And she wants to remain one. She told me she misses her home, she wants to go back. We're not just different in our minds; she has a completely different heritage, other values and…you know, that's not really the problem. The problem is that she is homesick. She wants to go back. And I don't want to tie her down here and keep her from what she wishes for, you know?"

"Wow," Gawain said.

"What?"

"That was…wow…I think that was the most selfless you've ever been."

"That might even be true," Lancelot said and smiled sadly.

"But, honestly…none of that really matters," Gawain began. "If you really want to be together, everything else will work out in the end. You shouldn't jeopardize this…thing, just because of your gallantry. Go for it. Guts and passion, my man. It's what we're made of."

"That was well phrased."

"I know. I do come up with something ingenious once in a while."

"Yes, you do. Oh, and Gawain?"

"Yes?"

"We have to stop calling it the thing."

"You may be right."

**Okay, so I was actually planning to present you all with a bit of fluff in this chapter, but I got so into the whole analyzing bit, that I ****didn't have time to switch to romantic mode. I promise, however, that the next chapter will be absolutely cheesy!! Review, my dear fellows, revieeeeew!!**


	16. Chapter 16

**I'm on a roll this week! ****Can't seem to be able to stop. Well, I promised you all some fluff and I do hope I won't disappoint you!**

_You can d__o this. You can totally do this! For god's sake it's just a girl, you've talked to thousands of girls before, and this will go down just the same. Just _do_ it!_

Even though Lancelot knew that his feeble attempt to give himself a pep talk wouldn't do him any good whatsoever, he still felt the need to do it. He wished Gawain were here and could talk him into it, kick him in the arse a bit, that would definitely work. But the bugger was nowhere to be seen! When Lancelot needed him the most he chose to vanish. Typical.

Lancelot took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Immediately, he could see Aethelinda before him, her pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, her eyes glistening…

"Go away," he grunted and opened his eyes again, willing his heart to slow down.

"It's going to be alright," he said to himself. "Just…walk right up to her, tell her you have to speak to her privately and then tell her that…"

But what was he going to tell her? This was the most crucial part and he had absolutely no idea how to act. True, he was a very good talker at everything else that concerned women, but actually _meaning_ something…

"Why can't I just die?" he groaned in frustration.

"What good would that do you?" Gawain said as he entered the room.

"Where the hell have you been?" Lancelot said sharply.

Gawain slowly raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, but I do have a life, you know."

"Right, sorry," Lancelot said, shaking his head, his heart hammering faster than ever.

"Would you calm down?" Gawain said strained. "This isn't the most difficult thing in the world, you know. No matter how great she is, Aethelinda is still just human. It's not like you have to conquer a fearsome animal."

"No, but I do!" Lancelot cried out in such a whiny voice that Gawain took a step back looking slightly alarmed.

"This stops right now," Gawain said in a low voice. "No more whining and moaning about it. I absolutely forbid it. You're behaving like a _girl_!"

"Thank you very much," Lancelot mumbled, but he straightened up nevertheless.

"Alright," Gawain said. "Just go up to her, tell her you need to talk to her privately and then…tell her."

"_What_ am I supposed to tell her?"

"Well, er…you know."

"No, I don't! That's exactly the problem!"

"Jesus, Lancelot, you've charmed women all over the country, you have to know what to say!"

"I know! But nothing, absolutely _nothing_ I think of is good enough! This is a disaster!"

Gawain sighed. "Right, we will use this to our advantage. You go there, tell her you need to talk to her and then you just _do._ If you're not prepared, if it's improvised it comes from the heart."

"You think so?" Lancelot asked unconvinced.

"No, I don't think so," Gawain answered. "I _know_ so."

"Alright."

"Alright then," Gawain said, looking relieved and rather pleased with himself. "Let's go then!"

LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE

There she was.

He hadn't expected to find her so quickly; it caught him completely off guard.

He'd thought he'd have time to think everything through or at least gather his thoughts, but no; somehow the gods didn't seem to favor him today. Actually, the past few weeks had been rather lousy. But he'd rather spend a life filled with disasters than cut open a pig and pretend he was giving it as a gift to the gods, utter nonsense.

"Lancelot," Gawain said and he snapped out of his trance.

"What?"

"You're standing there, staring and looking like a total idiot. Do something else."

"And what would you have me do?"

"Oh, that's a difficult one," Gawain said, furrowing his brows. "Oh, I don't know…why don't you… _go over there and tell her how feel_?" he hissed and Lancelot glared at him.

"Clever," he stated dryly.

"Naturally," Gawain said, looking around the tavern. "Just do it, man."

"Alright," Lancelot said and took a deep breath.

"You can do this," he murmured under his breath as he walked towards the table she was sitting at, deeply in conversation with Guinevere.

"It's going to be perfectly fine. You know she likes you, just tell her you like her, too and it will all fall into place and-"

He had been so busy talking to himself that he hadn't noticed he was standing right in front of Aethelinda until he saw her staring at him.

"Are you alright?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes, sure, why wouldn't I be?" he asked, his voice far too brightly.

"Well, for one your face has the color of something that grows on mushrooms and second you're mumbling to yourself."

"Right," he said, barely listening, staring at her brilliant dark eyes.

"Did you want something?" Aethelinda asked, looking at him as though he was a particularly dumb idiot. Guinevere looked at Lancelot and couldn't suppress a grin.

"Ah, yes, I did actually," he said, his heart pounding against his ribs.

_Just _do _it!_

"And that would be…?" Aethelinda said, raising en eyebrow.

"Well, you see, I…what I mean is…actually…rather funny…yes…" Lancelot stuttered.

"Lancelot have you been eating questionable mushrooms?" Aethelinda asked and Guinevere laughed out loud.

"No," he said, his heart pounding violently in his ears. He felt like he was about to throw up.

"So what is it, then?" Aethelinda asked, getting impatient.

"I…I forgot, sorry," he stammered, turned on the spot and walked away quickly, looking around for a proper corner to stab himself in.

"Well?" Gawain asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement and curiosity, as Lancelot approached.

"I want to die," Lancelot stated.

"Ah," Gawain said, lost for actual words.

"I do," Lancelot said, looking at his friend. "Please kill me. Here and now?"

"What? No, I won't!"

"You have to."

"Was it that horrible? What did she say, did she laugh at you? What a cow-"

"No, she didn't. I couldn't do it."

Gawain looked at Lancelot and blinked once.

"What now?"

"I couldn't tell her. She was sitting there, looking all…well like Aethelinda and I just couldn't."

Gawain continued to look at him. "Sometimes I hate you. Like right now, I really hate you."

"Join the club," Lancelot murmured wretchedly.

Gawain sighed. "Fine. Look, maybe it just wasn't the time. There were so many people and Guinevere was there, that might have been a little awkward. You'll do it, you know you will."

"Not so sure," Lancelot mumbled.

"Stop that," Gawain said reproachfully. "Of course you will. And now if you will excuse me, I have to go."

"What, where?" Lancelot asked.

"Just because _you_ stopped living doesn't mean the rest of us did. And just because _you_ don't take chances doesn't mean none of us do."

"What are you talking about?" Lancelot asked, just as a pretty girl walked up to them, beaming at Gawain.

And Gawain grinned back, looking like a love struck puppy. Lancelot stared at him.

"You must be Lancelot," the woman said, turning towards him.

"Er, yeah," he said, shaking her hand.

"I'm Efa," she said, smiling at him. Lancelot had to admit she was extremely pretty. Her long brown hair fell down to her waist, her green eyes were sparkling and her cheeks had turned pink from the heat in the tavern.

"Nice to meet you," he said.

"You, too. I've heard so much about you," she said, grinning.

"Naturally," he said, winking and they both laughed."Well I don't want to keep you two from frolicking. Have a nice evening," he said to Efa who smiled and walked over to a table.

"Aha," Lancelot said, looking at Gawain. He was staring at him defensively.

"Don't even start," he said, looking angry. "I don't want to hear anything, understood? No rude jokes, no comments about her…appearance, nothing, alright?"

"I wasn't going to," Lancelot answered truthfully, taken aback.

"Well, good," Gawain huffed, looking at Efa.

"So…that's what's been happening while I was hiding in my room?" he asked.

"Yes," Gawain said, looking uncomfortable.

"What on earth is the matter with you?" Lancelot asked, slightly freaked out by the behavior.

Gawain sighed and looked at his friend. "Listen, don't take this the wrong way, it's nothing personal, but…you charm every woman you meet into your bed and normally I don't mind but this time…this isn't just any woman, alright? I…I really like her, she's…amazing. And I don't want-"

"Wait, you're afraid I'd steal her from you?" Lancelot asked.

"Don't be angry, it's just-"

"I'm not," Lancelot interrupted. "I wouldn't, I swear. Even if there was no Aethelinda, I wouldn't. I know a serious thing when I see one, I wouldn't ruin it ever."

"Thanks," Gawain said, looking relieved.

"No go and charm her into marrying you," Lancelot grinned and Gawain grinned back, walking towards the table, where he sat down next to Efa, who leaned against him as he wrapped his arms around her.

Lancelot couldn't help but look at them with jealousy. The way they looked at each other! As if nothing else mattered, as if there was no one else but them. Gawain took Efa's face in his hands and kissed her with such tenderness that Lancelot felt the need to turn away. It wasn't his moment.

Feeling worse than he had all week he left the tavern and went to his room, earnestly considering stabbing himself.

**God, my dear fluff lovers I am sooo sorry for disappointing you yet again! I really planned on some serious action, but I don't want it all to be rushed, it wouldn't be a good read. The little bit of Gawain and Efa, yes I spelled that right it's Welsh, isn't even worth mentioning. But he got a girl! Let's all be happy about that! Next chapter up as soon as possible****! Revieeew please!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Okay, so now let's get down to some real fluff:**

It was one of the most beautiful days Lancelot had ever seen.

The sun was blazing down, the heat dimmed by a soft breeze. The flowers and trees were in full bloom after the last rain and their scent filled the mild air.

Lancelot had wanted to meet Gawain to go and visit Tristan's grave, but apparently something had … come up. Even though Lancelot already knew what this thing was, he witnessed the heavy snogging between Gawain and his Efa, feeling like he was going to throw up.

He was very happy for Gawain; he knew that this was the real thing for him, the way he stared at her!

But he couldn't suppress that other feeling.

This stinging in the pit of his stomach that left him feeling hollow and completely miserable. It was jealousy in its meanest form. He wasn't jealous because Gawain had gotten that particular girl, but the fact that he had gotten a girl and not him.

Lancelot frowned at his selfishness as he walked along the forest line outside the fort.

He didn't want to feel jealous. Jealousy was an ugly emotion. Well many emotions were ugly, but jealousy was definitely one of the top three.

As he thought about number one and number two he strode aimlessly around the edge of the forest. he could hear water running from around a corner and when he reached it he saw a small well. Clear water was spilling from it, flowing down a small riverbed into the forest.

Walking closer, he decided to sit down and enjoy the sun, when he saw her.

She was sitting at the edge of the little pool that had formed under the well. She had hitched her dress up to her knees and she dipped her feet into the sparkling water. She had pushed her long dark curls to one said of her face, so that he could see her face properly. She seemed to be los on thoughts, her huge almost black eyes reflecting the glistening of the water.

Lancelot swallowed. My god she was beautiful. In a totally different way than all the other women he'd ever met before.

His heart thudding in his chest and without giving himself the time to think about it, he cleared his throat and her head jerked up.

A smile spread across her face and she beamed up at him as he sat down next to her in the grass.

"Well, hello," she said brightly and he smiled.

"Hello to you, too," he said, still smiling.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said, looking up at the sky.

"It most certainly is," Lancelot agreed, staring at her.



She blushed and smiled shyly. "It's nice to see you've returned to your normal self."

Lancelot frowned. "I guess."

"What was all that about the other day in the tavern?" she wanted to know, looking at him curiously.

"Oh, nothing. I guess I was already a little wasted," he lied, shaking his head.

A silence followed. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence and he enjoyed sitting here in her presence without having to make an effort of thinking of something witty to say.

Still, she was sitting so near to him that he could feel her warmth radiating off her. He fidgeted slightly, the nervousness returning.

"Are you alright?" she asked, noticing his behavior.

"I'm totally fine," he said, not able to restrain from wringing his hands nervously.

_Get a grip on yourself!_

"Lancelot," she said. "Are you sure you're alright?"

He turned towards her, his mouth open for a retort, but it caught in his throat.

She was only inches away, her eyes boring into his. And he couldn't think. He simply couldn't. he could just stare at her. He noticed how the sun had caused freckles to appear on her nose and how her cheeks had become pink in the heat of the sun. Her lips parted slightly. And her eyes…he couldn't tear his gaze away from them. Now that he was so close he found that her eyes had an interesting shade of dark chocolate brown with a hint of violet. The color looked unreal and absolutely breathtaking.

"Umh…" he began, not knowing what the question had been. He really didn't know anything at that moment, including his own name.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly, a slight smile appearing on her lips.

"No," he answered.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Something," he answered dumbly.

"Ah," she said, smiling again. Lancelot heart was racing. Her eyes darted down towards his mouth for a second. Then she looked up again, still smiling softly. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

And Lancelot found his old confidence again.

"Yes," he said and kissed her.

He heard a sharp intake of breath, but he didn't know who it had come from. He was in heaven, he really was. Her lips were soft against his, as he braided his hands into her curls, holding her face in his hands. She slung her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer.



They broke apart for a fraction of a second to catch their breath and then she was kissing him again with such force that he fell back, lying on his back. He pulled her on top of him and continued to kiss her.

There really wasn't anything better in the whole world. Nothing could compare to these feelings that were coursing through every inch of him, as he placed a hand on the small of her back.

It was only when she pulled away that he realized he really needed oxygen.

They were both panting frantically and looked at each other.

She had a apprehensive expression in her face, as though she wasn't sure of what was going to happen next. But she didn't get up.

Lancelot looked into her eyes and stroked the line of her jaw with his fingers, taking her face in his hands again as gently as he could. He smiled at her and the apprehension vanished and was replaced by what could only be pure elation and she beamed at him, her eyes sparkling.

She bowed down again, kissing him lightly, her hands on his shoulders. He turned over, rolling onto her and she laughed. Lancelot was dazzled by the beauty that radiated from her.

He bowed down again, so that their noses were almost touching.

She looked at him and her expression turned serious.

"What does this mean?" she asked.

Lancelot groaned. "You really know how to spoil the moment," he murmured and let his lips travel along her jaw. He could feel her shiver beneath him and grinned to himself.

"Well, maybe you should have picked another girl," she breathed.

"There are no other girls. Not for me," he whispered and he felt her smiling with delight at his words.

"You definitely know how to charm women," she said in a low voice, as he continued to let his lips wander over her face.

At her words he stopped and looked into her eyes.

"But I mean. I swear, Aethelinda, I really mean it," he said seriously.

"I believe you," she said, almost glowing with elation and he had to smile.

"It is strange," he continued, his lips at her neck now and he could hear a sharp intake of breath. "You are so different from the other girls I usually like. I used to go for the pretty ones-"

Aethelinda stiffened beneath him and he closed his eyes.

_Smooth, really smooth! You BASTAAAARD!_

She pushed him off her with amazing force and sprang to her feet.

"Wait, Aethelinda, I didn't mean it like that," Lancelot said, looking at her.



"Of course," she said, snorting. "You used to go for the pretty ones, but you thought the ugly Saxon would be the easiest."

"What?" Lancelot asked incredulously. "I would _never_-"

"Whatever," she said and he could see the pain in her eyes. "I should have known, it was really stupid of me to assume…silly…." She said and without another glance at him she strode away quickly.

Lancelot groaned and buried his face in his hands.

He was considering drowning himself in the well.

Why couldn't anything ever work out?

**Fluff! That was fluff my dear people! Not the cheesiest thing I ever wrote but not bad all the same. I hope I'll earn more reviews with this ;-) Any volunteers?**


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